Hunt or Be Hunted: A Scabior Tale
by DreamChaos
Summary: Scabior seeks Olive - the only mudblood to have escaped him. Olive seeks Scabior - a man who was responsible for her father's death. She poses as a Snatcher, waiting for the best moment to strike, but notices Scabior is haunted by her scent.  CURRENTLY BEING RE-EDITED
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hey all. Some of you may be readers from my Draco fic and others may not. Draco readers - do not worry! I'll be updating both of these stories frequently over the next month. I'll have my Draco update out tonight, but don't expect an update on either until Saturday. Thanksgiving, Black Friday, all that jazz. Anywho, this is my new story I felt I HAD to write after seing the extremely sexy Scabior in HP:DHP1. Enjoy and review, you guys know the drill!**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.**

_"...I hate him. I hate him for what he's done. I will see him dead..." - An excerpt from Olive Westin's journal._

**Chapter One**

The girl was tired.

Not that she was a girl to _them. _To the Snatchers, Olive Westin was middle-aged Xavier Booke.

Instead of her long, golden hair, they saw a short, grey ponytail - held by one of Olive's own muggle hair ties. Instead of her wide emerald eyes, they saw Xavier's small, beady blue ones. Instead of her smooth, unmarked skin, they saw his rugged beard, a nasty cresent-scar upon his lip, and that vile black marking upon his arm.

Olive was a curious creature. Growing up a muggle, her mother had been terrified of her since the day she'd entered this world - with neon pink hair. Her mother didn't stick around long - Olive had been told she'd left almost immediately and remarried, having a second child. Her mother was a religious woman, or so she claimed, and her explanation for leaving was that she'd given birth to the anti-Christ. "What human," her mother used to say, "can change shape? Or color? She is supernatural, Henry, and I will not have any part of it."

Olive was her father's pride and joy. Such a strange little girl he thought she was. He was entranced by her ability to change appearance - giving up his traveling magic act to fully take care of his little Olive. _"And no shame there," _he would sometimes think to himself as he watched his daughter in glee, _"No magic, no sleight of hand in the world could ever match hers."_

Olive did not always feel the same. Years of public oppression had beaten her down at a young age. Why were there no others like her? Why couldn't she change in public?

"People are sharks," her father would say. "They smell blood and they swarm. Your magic is beautiful to behold, Olive. Share it with only those you fully trust."

Olive did not believe it was magic. She did not believe it was beautiful. She was a freak. Nothing more.

She was eleven and a half when she received her letter from Hogwarts. A tall, strange man in a funny cloak had delivered it to her since she was muggleborn, as they called it. Olive was sure it was a cruel joke until he suddenly disappeared and re-appeared from the room with two load cracks. This, she later learned, was called _apparating _- and she would become quite skilled at it in her later Hogwarts years. Even Dumbledore thought Olive was a curious being. Muggles could birth a witch or wizard, but it was rare to have a child who was a metamorphmagus. Not unheard of, he'd assured Olive - who was afraid she would be outcast even in the wizarding world.

Her father was filled with even more excitement than she.

"I will never practice _muggle _magic, again," he said in a joyful voice, trying to use the wizarding lingo whilst in Diagon Alley, "Nothing in my world will _ever _compare to this!"

Twenty-nine days before her twelth birthday, Olive was sorted into Ravenclaw. Her previous years being cooped up in her room reading had surely made the final decision for the hat.

The Sorting Hat had told her she was too unfriendly toward others for Hufflepuff. She wasn't near brave enough for Gryffindor. Olive simply had to be Ravenclaw, the hat decided, because there was no where else to put her. Even though she'd grown to be cold and hateful toward others, the Sorting Hat whispered to her that being muggleborn in Slytherin was not something that he, a silly hat, would wish on anyone.

A muggleborn.

A _mudblood, _as she would late be bullied for.

A mudblood she would later be called, her captor pushing her face down into the mud, laying on top of her and roughly pinning her down - surely leaving _more _bruises.

But, that's later in Olive's story. Even later than where we are now, laying back in her tent after a long nights snatching.

Olive laid there on her bed and wondered about many things. She wondered if Potter, Granger, and Weasley had gone back to Hogwarts. Surely, they were on the run - just like her- and she hoped they weren't skirting under the enemy's nose as she had been doing the past few months. She wondered if Draco Malfoy chose to be a Death Eater or if it was simply thrust upon him as family tradition. Olive had fancied him for awhile in Hogwarts, but she knew he would never be allowed to date her, even if she always did catch him watching her from the corner of his eye as she entertained her friends by changing her nose or hair.

She wondered if she would ever avenge her father's death.

"Booke!" he yelled out, stepping into the tent.

Olive hated him more than anything in the world.

His long, dark hair was pulled back into a disheveled ponytail, exposing his tired, unshaven face.

"Take guard. I need sleep."

Olive nodded gently in her manly guise and stood from the bed, walking past him quickly as he sniffed deeply into the air.

She closed her small eyes.

"You ol' wanker, you!" he laughed, causing Olive to slowly turn back around. "You been sneakin' over to that ol' pub again, haven't you? Same woman by the smell of it."

Olive shrugged her shoulders and laid a goofy smile on her face, turning back around to walk the perimeter. She dropped her smile.

There was nothing funny about it at all.

Scabior was one of the Ministry's best Snatchers due to his unmatchable tracking skills he'd attained by letting Greyback take a scratch at him. He had beyond perfect hearing, cat-like vision, and a keen sense of smell, which followed Olive around like the plague.

Scabior thought it was funny that an old man like Booke smelled of honeysuckle. Sometimes, after days of hard work, the smell would disappear. Booke would go out for awhile, presumably to some pub, and return with that lovely smell. Scabior hoped to one day meet the woman that sweet scent belonged to. It reminded him of _her. _It reminded him of the embarrassment she'd caused him. It reminded him that she was the only one to get away.

Olive was glad the men she snatched with were always assuming things. "Never assume," her father used to say with a laugh, "or you'll make an _ASS_ out of _U_ and _ME_!"

Her "pub affairs" were her simply sneaking off to the closest river, pond, ocean, _whatever _for a well-needed bath. She couldn't help it that she smelled like honeysuckle or that the vile man was attracted to the sickly sweet scent.

As Olive walked the perimeter, she found herself wondering again on that last thought.

_Would _she ever avenge her father's death?

She'd had plenty of chances to do it, but they all seemed too risky at the time. She sometimes felt like her dad was watching her and silently scolding her even thinking of taking another's life. It wasn't that she was afraid to kill someone - she'd done it twice before.

She knew - weeks before any Snatchers turned up in her father's home - that she wouldn't be returning to Hogwart's for her final year of schooling. There was a shift in the wind and Olive could feel the evil drifting her way. Unsure of what action to take, she would sit in her bedroom window seat day-by-day to watch for unwelcome visitors. Olive and her father lived across the way from a little park, which, one day, held a group of rather rough looking men. Five men, all dressed in black, raggy clothes, sat around a small picnic table. There was another - one other - that stood out.

He was sitting alone on one of the swings, kicking himself forward and back every now and then. He wore muted plaid pants with large black boots and a salmon scarf, which Olive found funny. While the other's sat and talked, he only said the occasional word, his eyes never once leaving Olive's bedroom window. She was alarmed, at first, to see this bed-headed bohemian staring at her from across the street, but calmed after an hour or two, realizing if he were there for her, he would have done something already.

Olive watched them well into the afternoon, her thoughts moving to her father telling her to "never give up and always stay in the light" after she'd finally broke down and worried him about the ongoing wizarding war. He would sit for hours, just like she, in his winged-back chair downstairs like a wilted flower - hatred filling his heart for whatever force had done this to his colorful daughter.

Olive's attention would snap back as the funny man would reach into his pocket every half-hour or so and pull out a cigarette. _"Nothing strange there," _she would think, glad that he wasn't pulling out his wand, if he even had one. She was being paranoid again, she reminded herself. She didn't even know if this man was a wizard or not.

She became amused after awhile, when she realized that when she cocked her head to the side, he would follow with the same. She wasn't alarmed by this, however, because by this time, she had assumed he was a muggle and him moving his head with her's was some subconcious action caused by him gazing up to her window in deep thought.

_Assumed._

She also assumed, in his deep thought, that he couldn't even actually _see _her. Or even slightly notice her watching him intently. Olive wondered to herself what sort of thoughts he could be having to have placed himself in this hypnotic state all afternoon.

A little while longer, Olive realized she hadn't had a shower yet that day. Taking one more glance down at the funny man, she uncurled her legs and headed toward the bathroom. He smiled from across the street, but she couldn't see it - her eyesight was not near as good as his own. He could see her perfectly. She was wearing a blue zip-up jacket and she had a diamond necklace around her neck. Olive couldn't see _it _- she hadn't been able to see the red band wrapped around his upper arm. This man was a Snatcher and he _was _there for Olive.

She could hear her father's radio softly playing Frank Sinatra downstairs until she turned on the water and let the room fill with steam.

Across the street, the funny man stood.

"Ready then are we, Scabior?" one of his men asked, to which he simply nodded in return. The five men followed him across the street and stood behind as he knocked gently on the door.

Olive didn't hear the knock. She didn't her the yells from downstairs - the _"Where is she?" _or the _"Crucio!"_ She didn't hear the funny man's coy steps up the stairs, or his hand resting on the warm bathroom door, or him deeply inhaling her honeysuckle scent that was rolling out of the door with the hot steam.

She didn't see Scabior's eyes roll back as she turned the water off, breathing in the last warm wave of the smell.

Olive had no idea of the trap she was about to walk in to.

She wrapped a towel around her long, blonde hair and another around her body, laughing out loud for forgetting her clothes in her room. She'd been so pre-occupied wondering what the funny man was thinking about so deeply.

Scabior smiled at her laughter, the excitement of the chase's climax building up. He thought of her laughter turning to screams as her sweet scent was tainted with blood.

He hoped she struggled. He loved it when they struggled. His stomach jumped unevenly as he thought of her writhing under the chains, her scent wafting wildly.

He waited patiently in front of the door for her to finish drying off and found himself wondering why he liked such wicked things or when, exactly, he realized he enjoyed hurting others. He mused about how sick he had become.

The door clicked quietly, but she halted and Scabior realized his mistake - the music was off downstairs after the scuffle that had taken place in the living room.

Olive thought quickly of her wand in her bedroom, and the music being off, and the fact that this was just her paranoia again. She took a deep breath, pushing open the door and she squeaked out pitifully for her dad. Her speech caught mid-word, however, as she realized the funny man was before her.

"Hello, love," the strange man purred, inhaling deeply as he closed his eyes.

Both of their bodies coursed with adrenaline - hers with the fear for her life and his with the excitement of the hunt.

She triend to dodge past him, heading to her room for her wand and holding on to the towel for dear life. He stepped in front of her quickly, throwing his arms around her tightly. Olive struggled against him as she felt him slam her into the wall. A quick sob left her mouth - half from pain and half from realization. She had failed her father. She'd _assumed. _She had thought this man, not so funny anymore, was harmless.

"Let me _go,_" she demanded, her eyes welling up in tears.

She was struggling. His stomach clenched shakily as he felt himself getting aroused. The honeysuckle bounced off the walls with every writhing movement she made, amplified every time she screamed for her dad as it bounced around the invisible vibrations in the air.

Caught up in the moment, he grabbed a fistful of her hair - bringing his nose into her damp curls.

Olive took the opportunity to knee him right where it hurts. He let out a cry of pain, but felt his blood rush with lust. If there was anything he liked better than them struggling, it was when they fought back.

She looked at him, shocked that she'd caused her attacker some amount of pain, and came to her senses quickly, darting for her room.

He let out a growl of frustration, grabbing her ankle and causing Olive to tumble down, smashing her head off the hallway table. Olive laid still for a moment, dazed as to what had just happened. She squeaked out a small cry, everything rushing back to her as the blood trickled down her face. Olive clawed at the floor as he dragged her backwards, the towel sliding up as he did. Scabior crawled on top of her, pulling a fistful of her hair and forcing her head down at an angle.

"How _dare _you attack me, you _filthy _little mudblood," he spat, nuzzling his face into her exposed neck.

Olive's sobs were choked and weak as the blood ran into her mouth. He loved that smell almost as much as her own, sending him into near ecstacy.

"Where is your wand?" he asked, his lips grazing her neck as he dragged his nose across her hairline.

She could only feel the intense pain from her head and the chill bumps that had risen all over her body with every breath he took of her hair.

Only sobs could escape her mouth.

He was going to rape her. He was going to kill her.

She could already feel the stiffness rubbing against her thigh, causing her to scrunch her face in disgust.

_"What an awful way to die,"_ she thought quite simply, as another suddering sob left her.

She'd never answered and he'd grown angry, slamming her head into the hard-wood floor beneath as she cried out in protest.

_"Where. Is. Your. Wand?"_

She didn't really have a choice, did she?

"In the cushions of my window seat," she croaked, him letting out a hum of approval.

"Good _girl,_" he said into her hair, leaning close to bite her neck, causing pain to errupt down her entire body. Olive let out a squeal and another sob of pain, screaming out for her dad once more.

Downstairs, her dad lay bound and gagged in the corner, each of the mean keeping entertained by _Crucio'_ing the muggle and watching him struggle in pain.

What was taking Scabior so long anyway?

Upstairs, Scabior had found the girl's wand, her still lying in the hall.

He smiled as the chase came to a close - she'd given up. She wasn't fun anymore to him. His body was calming down and he felt a small tug of remorse for letting it all end so quickly. He smiled down on her, smelling the honeysuckle and blood one last time. Pity she was a mudblood - she was such a beauty.

He picked her up bridal-style, the towel still wrapped around her loosely, and carried her downstairs where the men whooped and hollered over the half-naked mudblood laying limp in their leader's arms.

The Scabior's amusement, her beaten father struggled against his restraints with tear-filled eyes at the sight of his daughter.

Scabior hadn't noticed that Olive had slid her wand from his back pocket as he'd carried her down the stairs.

He dropped her unceremoniously on the couch as she let out another moan of pain, careful to keep her wand hidden beneath her. Her body ached and her vision was swimming from him being so rough with her.

Scabior looked distastefully at the clock.

"Damn, Ministry's closed for the night. Booke and Booke," he said to two similar men, "Take care of the muggle. Bind the girl and bring her to camp. She'll be in my tent tonight," he said with a coy smile to Olive's father, daring him to make one noise of protest. "The rest o'you lot come with me to set up the tents."

The men all nodded to Scabior.

"Epping Forest in the valley," he said with a nod, him and the other three disappearing with a crack.

The thick boys chortled as they looked down on her nearly exposed body, the blood running and the bruises forming.

"Go' a li'le rough 'wiv ya, that Scabior?" the shorter one asked. Olive was frightened by the chunk missing from the man's nose, but continued to lay emotionless.

She waited for the _Obliviate _which would erase her forever from her father's memory.

It never came.

The one with the scar across his lip raised his wand, her growing hopeful that her father may soon re-ignite the simple joy he'd once held in muggle magic.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

She let out a whimper, frantic as the light left her father's eyes.

Olive snapped.

She thought back on that night everyday - critisizing her every move.

She thought of it now as she walked the perimeter a third time, listening for muggles or muggleborns. Half-bloods, even.

What would her father think? She felt she'd betrayed that advice he'd given her - the very advice she'd thought of as she'd watched Scabior from across the street, not knowing then what dangers he would impose.

"Always stay in the light," he'd told her.

Was she in the light? She doubted it.

She was constantly ashamed of her actions. She'd killed the Booke brothers with her hidden wand that night. She'd stolen Xavier's clothes and identity. She'd hid his body. Once she apparated to the _exact _spot Scabior had told them to go, she faked a deep crying to cover for her own girlish voice and told them lie after lie - how the girl had a wand, how she killed Alexander after he killed her father, how he had barely gotten away. Scabior _crucio'_d Xavier, not knowing it was the very girl he sought. The very girl who was seeking revenge.

Here she was under his nose, several months after the death of her father - snatching these innocent people with Xavier's body to remain safe. She could feel their pain as they sobbed, but she continued. She continued to turn them in, knowing full and well they'd be killed. It was survival, she would tell herself. It was hunt or be hunted.

Scabior lay in the tent, surrounded by that _smell. _It seemed to follow him everywhere - taunting him for falling for the girl's act.

He _would _find her for making him such an embarrassment. And he swore to himself that he'd make her cry out for a father who was no longer there.

And so, they both stay awake wondering that night - her circling him with that sweet scent. She was after him and he after her - and they were both hell-bent on revenge.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Yay! I've already gotten quite a few hits and a good bit of followers with only one chapter up! My next update will be my Draco fic, so I'll alternate between the two. I'm going to try and update atleast one, if not both, each day. Enjoy! **

**DISCLAIMER: i do not own Harry Potter or any rights to the "Summer Wind", sung by Frank Sinatra.**

_"He gave me a break today, which I thought was him just being nice. Boy, did that backfire." - Excerpt from Olive Westin's journal_

**Chapter 2**

Scabior was _not _thick.

He was not dumb, or stupid, or ignorant.

He was 27 years old and had spent the last six years of his life rotting and hardening in Azkaban.

He thought of himself as quite brilliant, actually. He was a survivor.

He was one of the Ministry's best Snatchers, earning him higher pay rates than the others. He was thankful for the twisted scar he held on his back, which gave him the talent to do so well on his job. That was part of the deal, you see - a scratch from Greyback with the promise of becoming a Snatcher and a lifetime of servitude to the Dark Lord in exchange for his freedom.

Even the Death Eaters in Azkaban had to make a deal of some sort to be released.

Although he hadn't cared much for school, he'd done reasonably well in most of his classes. He'd graduated top ten of his class.

The point Scabior was trying to make to his own self right now was simple - nothing much got past him these days.

Not one of his captives had ever escaped.

Not one - until _her. _

_"Olive Westin," _he thought darkly.

She had tricked him.

A mudblood caught completely off-guard had tricked a trained Snatcher.

She had been helpless at first as she'd left her bathroom wandless in nothing more than a skimpy towel. She'd tried to struggle against him. She'd tried to fight back. She'd given up.

_"She pretended to give up,"_ he corrected himself in his mind.

She _hadn't._

Olive had snuck her wand out of an experienced Snatcher's pocket. She had _killed _a grown Death Eater all on her own.

She _got away._

Scabior absent-mindedly stroked his lips in deep thought.

He remembered the laughter from the other Snatcher groups as they'd heard the news.

_Dreagan Scabior, _arguably the _best _Snatcher the Ministry had, let a _mudblood _escape.

He was a joke.

Scabior _hated _the girl.

He would lay awake at night in his demented fantasies, his breathing growing heavy as he thought of choking the girl while he violated her. She would scream and punch, in his thoughts, cry and bleed - until the last breath left her body.

Maybe then her scent would finally vanish from his mind.

But, as Scabior had told himself countless times - he was _not _simple.

She had been skirting around him - taunting him. He could smell her _everywhere _and he knew this wasn't some sensory hallucination. He'd spent too many years in Azkaban imagining he had smelt a hot rump roast to be deceived by such things.

Olive Westin was near. She was _always _near.

Honeysuckle was not a common scent for a woman. Most of them smelled like lavender, or roses, or bubble gum.

Never honeysuckle.

He'd only ever smelled it on Olive before. Scabior found it odd that all the sudden Booke walks around trailing the scent. He had debated with himself for days on whether it was actually possible for another woman to claim such a unique and strong scent. Surely not. It was too similar to something that was so rare.

He knew it was her. And he knew it was Olive's scent that clung to Xavier Booke's body every few days.

Scabior had been watching him closely - pretending he believed Booke was having an affair with some woman at the pub.

But, he _knew._

He _knew _it was the girl.

And he'd already decided that if Booke was fucking her, he'd have to kill him. No questions asked. Scabior felt _he _should be the one to take the girl's innocence.

He wanted to strip her of every last thing she had left. He would take her dignity, he would take her pride, and he would take her self-worth.

Olive Westin would be _nothing _after he was done with her.

A corpse - and nothing more.

He sat in their tent, debating on going through Booke's bag. It was just sitting there so innocently propped against Booke's bed.

He hadn't sent the potential traitor to search for food for nothing - he'd had every intention of going through the man's bag until the sweet scent had disappeared out into the woods with him. Was it worth it? He didn't have enough proof to start pointing fingers, but he felt he wouldn't find much in the bag since he couldn't smell the honeysuckle any longer.

He was _wrong._

Curiosity finally getting the better of him, he hastily opened the bag before he changed his mind again.

The simple backpack exploded with the smell, causing the scent to quickly erupt within the tent, clinging to everything within reach.

_"Undetectable anti-stench charm."_

Scabior clenched his teeth together roughly, hastily dumping the bag's contents on to the bed.

An extra change of clothes. Booke's Snatcher I.D. A white towel. A half-used bar of soap. A...pair of _women's _jeans?

And shoes?

And pink socks?

Scabior's hands flew through the bag's contents, heat rising to his face.

A book of muggle fairy tales?

A picture of the muggle father?

His hands were shaking.

_A bra? _

_Panties?_

Scabior's fist crushed the cotton panties as he uncovered his final discovery.

Olive's diamond necklace.

There was a traitor among them - and he would certainly have Booke's life for this. Booke fucking the girl was just like a blatant laugh in the face to Scabior.

And Scabior had reached a breaking point.

He quickly stuffed the bag full again as he heard the thick man's footsteps among the other Snatcher's carrying on outside. The bulky man entered the tent and hitched his thumb to point outside. It bothered Scabior that Booke had hardly talked since the death of his brother Alexander. It was deathly boring to be bunk mates with someone that didn't talk - traitor or not.

"You goin' to sneak off the that ol' pub again, Booke?"

Scabior's mind was clicking - he wanted to see the girl first to confirm. He wanted to just glimpse her long, golden hair. To experience that heavenly scent on her skin - if only for a second.

_"Stop."_

He fidgeted his legs quickly as he felt a tug in his pants. When would her taunting end?

Booke looked up at him slowly, not sure of how to answer.

"Go ahead. I'll keep the watch while you go have your fun," he added with a wink.

Olive nodded with Xavier's face. Scabior _never _just _offered _them free time like that - and she wasn't about to simply ignore it.

She grabbed her bag, a genuine smile on her face, and exited the tent, heading for the small lake she'd stumbled up earlier.

Olive was unaware that she was being followed. She couldn't be blamed - Scabior was well-trained in his craft. His steps were as silent as death as he kept a good fifty yards behind her.

Olive finally reached the edge of the lake and quickly removed Xavier's clothes, not knowing Scabior was behind or that his view was temporarily obstructed as he rounded a tree. When he came around to fully view the lake, there was nothing but clothing laying near the water. The bubbles began to surface as Olive neared the top. She had grown used to cold baths and found the easiest way was to just take a deep breath and plunge.

Scabior watched intently, waiting for the girl to show up.

He smelled her before he saw her.

The scent hit him unexpectedly, catching him off guard as his body let out a shiver. He looked around wildly, but his eyes locked on the emerging golden head.

_There she was._

There she was _right in front of him._

His mind flashed to his hands tightly crushing her throat as he plunged in and out of her.

Scabior drew a shuddering breath as she raised her hands to her hair with the soap bar he'd found in her bag earlier, her breast peeking at him tauntingly from just above the water.

She was just so _vulnerable. _He could easily take her here now if he wanted, but he needed a more difficult challenge. This was _too _easy.

Scabior was so distracted with the naked girl before him, he never even stopped to wonder where Booke was.

Olive thought she'd heard a twig snap in the woods, quickly looking out around her. She held still for a moment, searching for someone spying on her, but after a moment grew confident that it was only her imagination.

_"Paranoia," _she thought quickly.

She'd thought she was just being paranoid when her father's music was unexpectedly silenced.

What had he been listening to again? She could barely remember the date, let alone any minute details of the day. Really, she couldn't remember any of the small things of her whole previous life to snatching. It was like they'd just vanished into thin air. She suspected her body didn't want her to remember all the horrible things she'd been through.

Olive closed her eyes as she thought frantically of what had been the last song her father had ever listened to. She strained for a moment, raising both hands to her hair in frustration - not knowing she was further arousing the spying man as she exposed her upper half - until it came to her.

"Summer Wind," she whispered to herself, a small smile crossing her face. She didn't know if it was the exact last song he'd listened to, but it was what she heard floating up the stairs as she stepped into her bathroom. She was happy to have just remembered something after all this harshness since her father died.

He'd been listening to "Summer Wind", which was one of his all time favorites. The thought of him singing it softly in his chair late at night made a pitiful smile cross the girl's face.

"The summer wind -," she began to softly sing, somewhat as her first attempt at remembering her father for who he was and not as some man who died afraid, tied up and bound on the floor, "- came blowin' in -"

Scabior watched her intently. Was she..._singing?_

"- from across the sea. It lingered there -"

He thought she had a sweet, silky voice that so perfectly matched her tantalizing scent.

"- to touch your hair and walk with me."

Scabior felt her sweet voice and scent were too innocent for that body of hers and those dark fantasies he had about defacing it.

"All summer long," Olive continued, washing the grit from her body, "we sang a song and then we strolled that golden sand."

He could feel the snugness of his pants as she continued her hypnotic lullaby, entrancing him with her breasts as they danced over the water.

"Two sweethearts and the summer wind."

She paused for a moment, ducking her head back under the water to wash the plain soap from her hair to prevent residue.

"Like painted kites, those days and nights -"

He thought only of her wet hair plastered to her neck. Her naked body. Her delicious smell.

"- they went flying by."

He thought of pulling her hair tight.

"The world was new beneath the blue -"

He thought of pinning her to the ground.

"- umbrella sky."

He thought of bruising her.

"Then softer than -"

Of biting her.

"- a piper man -"

Of cutting her.

"- one day, it called to you."

_Choking_ her.

"I lost you. I lost you to -"

Making her scream.

"- the summer wind."

Making her sob.

"The autumn wind -"

Her struggling.

"- and the winter winds -"

And fighting back.

"- they have come and gone."

Him smacking her.

"And still those days -"

And punching her.

"- those lonely days -"

Hurting her.

"- go on and on."

_Raping_ her.

"And guess who sighs -"

Making her_ like _it.

"- his lullabies-"

Making her _moan._

"- through nights that never end?"

Feeling her blood.

"My fickle friend -"

Feeling her cold body.

"- the summer wind."

Scabior let out a growl of frustration that she'd stopped singing and lowered her body back into the water.

He would take her.

He would take her _tonight._

Scabior watched as the girl stumbled out of the water, her body fully exposed to him as she dried. She changed into Xavier's clothes - which Scabior didn't even notice until she suddenly changed into the older man before his very eyes.

"That fucking _bitch,_" he spat harshly under his breath.

That _fucking _cunt. No _wonder _he smelt her everywhere! Booke wasn't _fucking _her! He _was _her!

What a fucking _sneaky-ass _whore!

With one last look, he snaked toward camp quietly, giving his men order's to pack up camp and meet him near a cave in Scotland in two hours. Within minutes they were gone, leaving only Scabior and Olive's tent.

Scabior sat by the tent's entrance and waited, his stomach beginning to churn from the build of excitement. Booke stumbled from the brush a while later with a confused look upon his face.

"They'd already eaten," Scabior lied, already having come up with the story, "so I sent them along to our next camp spot to set up while I waited on ya'."

Booke nodded soundlessless as he stepped toward the tent to put his bag away.

Scabior began whistling, which Olive didn't find strange since he did it quite often. She would have found it strange that, after she'd entered the tent, he quickly stood with his wand pointed dead toward the entrance, but she didn't see that. She also would have thought it strange that he was whistling a muggle song sung by a muggle man by the name of Frank Sinatra, but she didn't hear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Blah. Okay, I don't like smutty scences, so I try to write them delicately. Please note that this isn't meant to be enjoyable for Olive, so I didn't eactly write it for the reader to enjoy it either. Don't worry, there'll be much better scenes in the future. Message and review! How else will I know what you guys like and don't like? Even though I'm crafting the story, it's FOR you guys. If I wrote it for me, I wouldn't put it online! I've always liked to include my readers in the molding of the story, so LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! Kloveyabye. 3 **

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.**

_"...His wand works nicely for me. Not that it makes up for anything that he's done - I sincerely hope mine won't even cast him a _Lumos._" - An excerpt from Olive Westin's journal._

Chapter 3

The week before Olive had started at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had sent for a woman named Tonks to meet with her. He'd informed Olive that this woman was a metamorphmagus, as well, and that it might be wise to learn how to better control her ability.

Even in her young age, Olive was a bitter person. She thought the entire thing was all rubbish.

How could someone like Olive - who'd spent her entire _life _controlling her appearance - need the help of a woman like her - who probably had never had to strain herself on a day-to-day basis?

The woman's advice - until Olive had walked into that tent, unaware of what was about to unfold - held very little importance in Olive's life. She'd taught her how to keep her hair from becoming red when she was angry, or how to keep her skin from turning grey if she were sad. That was about the full-extent of Olive's usefulness for her lessons. Tonks had explained to her that she couldn't teach her how to stop the spell that would ruin a metamorphmagus' disguise because the only way to block it _was _to block it.

And Olive had never been quick enough to block or disarm an opponent.

Tonks had urged Olive to remember the spell, that way she would know what to expect. She also told her it would be wise to be prepared to block and to watch for people who began acting suspicious of her disguise. "This spell is not your friend," Tonks had told her. "Depending on your situation, it might as well be an _Avada._"

Olive figured the woman only stressed this so much because she was a relatively new Auror. Her life depended on how well she could hide her own face, which was about the only thing Tonks had going for her, seeing as she was the clumsiest person Olive had ever met. Olive had no desire to become an Auror, or even work for the Ministry, so she had no use in these words of caution. If she would ever find herself in a situation where she was hiding for some reason, she would simply watch - as she'd been told - to see if anyone found her out of place. She would have her wandy ready to ensure she had time to block.

Scabior didn't give her that time.

She'd laid her bag down on the bed, still disguised in Xavier Booke's pudgy body. Olive had started to leave the tent to help Scabior break down camp, but as she pulled back the tent's entrance -

_"Expelliarmus!"_

- her wand flew from her hand.

_"Aperio!"_

Before Olive could even register what was happening, she could feel her face distorting as she shrank a good foot beneath Scabior's pointed wand.

A small whimper left her mouth as her changing body stopped - content on Olive's true identity.

Her breathing began escaping in small huffs as she panicked, realizing what had just happened.

_Aperio, _the spell Tonks had tried to beat into her head, was a counter-transfiguration charm cast to uncover a metamorphmagus' true identity and to hold them in their true form for one hour's time.

"There she _is_," Scabior breathed dangerously, advancing on the girl, "Miss Olive has decided to come out and play."

Olive stepped back with every stride he took, keeping her eyes focused on the tip of his wand. She couldn't hold her hands still and became embarrassed as her eyes began to burn. Scabior took another step toward her, but her stomach dropped with dread as she felt her butt dig into the table behind her. He took another two steps, closing the gap, and lowered his wand, pressing his body up against hers. Although this was indeed a very sexual act, Scabior really only wanted her scent to cling to his clothing, so he might have something as a crude reminder of her for a few days. Olive hated herself as the tears began to pour down her face.

"Poor _baby,_" he softly mocked.

He attempted to wipe her tears as her breath jumped in her chest, but she quickly jerked her head to the side. Or she tried to, at least, but Scabior roughly grabbed her chin, his fingernails digging into her smooth skin, and forced her to look at him.

He was breathing in the honeysuckle deeply, pressing her into the table so hard that he was causing her to lift up onto it as he forced his way between her knees.

Olive set her jaw, determined not to make a noise as he nuzzled his face in her hair, still holding her face forward.

"What gave me away?" Olive asked weakly, thinking conversation might prolong this, giving her more time to figure out an escape.

She wanted nothing more than to kill the man, but she had to be stupid and let him disarm her. She told herself that she was going to have to deal with this for right now until she could get to her wand - that it was fair punishment for letting him trick her. She would find a way out of this because she knew she could be quite brilliant when the moment struck her. She was a survivor.

His free hand reached around her head, taking a handful of hair from the nape of her neck and forcing her head down at an odd angle.

"Do not speak unless spoken to, love," he murmered, releasing her chin and running his fingers over her lips before finally placing his hand on her thigh.

"Where is Alexander Booke?" he asked lightly, running his hand higher up her leg as he nuzzled his face in her neck, savoring the scent.

Olive took a deep, slightly shaky breath. _"Keep calm. Keep calm. Hold still."_

"Dead," she strained to say, attempting to keep her voice even.

Olive knew if she would hold still and keep calm, he would lose interest. Or, it would at least buy her more time. It had worked last time, hadn't it? Her mind was going into overload, trying to think of an escape. She needed her wand. This was survival - she could live without her extra clothes or the few things she'd brought from her home, although it pained her to imagine leaving them. But, she knew she couldn't apparate without her wand. And she really didn't see herself lasting very long in the woods physically _running _into unfamiliar land from someone who did it for a living.

He combed his fingers through her hair, releasing his uncomfortable hold on her before jerking her head down even farther, her neck exposed in a dangerously vulnerable way.

"And Xavier Booke?"

The hand on her thigh slid up to her waist, him quickly pressing his rough palm under her now loose shirt.

Olive swallowed quickly.

"Dead."

His fingers slid up her back, each dragging a new level of dread into Olive.

He was definitely going more slow with her than he had the other women she'd seen him rape, tearing their body and soul apart for the entire group of Snatchers to see. Olive knew, from watching it happen over and over, that the more you cried, or struggled, or fought, the more excited he became and the more quickly you became dead.

If she could keep him at bay, she would have more time to execute a plan.

"That's no good, Olive," he said, becoming frustrated with her lack of reaction.

His hand felt back around to her side, working it's way up toward her chest. He knew she was doing this on purpose and he'd have to find her weak spot in order to get the reaction he craved.

His fingers lightly ran up and over her nipple, causing it to perk up and Olive to give an involuntary flinch.

That flinch brought a flash of screaming and begging in Scabior's eyes - of blood and tears. These fantasies were not enough for him. He needed the real thing.

"Did they at least have time to put that filthy muggle you call a father in his rightful place?"

Olive's stomach exploded with hatred as she snapped, forgetting her cool facade. She shoved him forcefully away from her, his hands leaving from her shirt, and quickly jumped down from the table.

"My father was a good man. He never did _anything _to you," she hissed. "How _dare _you speak of him!"

Scabior stood straight, just looking at the girl. Now, _that _was the reaction he wanted. He'd hit her weak spot, alright. He could tell she was going to run, but he _would not _let her get away a second time. He anxiously awaited for her first move, excited by her change of action.

He knew her wand was behind him to his left because the girl kept sneaking peeks in that direction. That was really the secret to snatching - watching them. It usually wasn't the enhanced small, excellent hearing, or precise vision, although it helped - it was _them._

Most of them didn't realize that they gave themselves away.

Olive's mind was reeling. To run? Or not to run?

If she could push past Scabior ("_Unlikely_.") and get to her wand before he got to her ("_Even more unlikely_."), then she could quickly apparate to safety. It was that or stay here at his mercy, which went one of two ways. One, he would have his way with her and then turn her into the Ministry where she would have her wand snapped and probably end up dead, which sucked, or he would just have his way with her and kill her himself, which sucked even more. Olive wasn't really a fan of either of those choices, so, the only way she saw it, she _had _to get to her wand.

Olive quickly dove to his left.

Scabior reacted instantly, grabbing the girl and flinging her back into the table. The quick movement had caused her scent to attack his senses.

"Ah, come _on,_" he said huskily, his pants growing tight, "I think we can try a little better than _that._"

Olive tried to dart around him again, the chances of her escape becoming bleak. He was just too quick.

He threw her back into the table once again, harder this time, causing the still-dirty plates to shatter as they fell. Her adrenaline was pumping so hard that she barely felt a thing.

"That's _it? _That's _all _you've got?" Scabior further taunted.

Olive's face scrunched up as she openly cried, unsure of what to do. She felt sick as she thought of her father telling her she ws born under the right sign, seeing as libras were always indecisive.

Scabior clenched his fists as his arousal grew with the girl's crying.

"Your father deserves to rot."

Her fists clenched, as well, though hers were from anger. If he hadn't of cast that spell, she would've had bright red hair from being unable to control her hatred.

"He was a _loser._"

She ran toward her wand again, determined to make it out alive. Scabior's arms wrapped around her waist as he let her pass him a little, his sadistic side wanting to see a small glimmer of hope in her eyes. He brought her close to him, her back to his chest, and lifted her up from the ground around her waist - her legs kicking violently as she resisted. He stumbled over to her bed and dumped her down, once again taking ahold of her hair.

"My father was _not _a loser. You sit around all day bossing everyone around and taking credit for _everything. _You're _worthless. You're _the loser!"

Olive's mind didn't have time to register what was happening as Scabior drew back his arm, his fist colliding like a block of cement with her mouth. Her mind was in slow motion as her head turned with the sheer force of the punch and she could see little bits of blood swimming past her face and staining his sheets. She saw his other fist aiming dead for her, but felt too drowsy to react as her head was forced the other way, her nose exploding with blood.

Olive thought nothing after this as her head hit the pillow, body limp, already rock bottom in unconsciousness.

Scabior quickly pinned the girl, biting into her neck until he drew blood. The scent of both that and the honeysuckle together had almost been too much for him last time and he wasn't going to restrain himself anymore. He reached down to unbutton his pants and release himself from the uncomfortable tightness he was experiencing. The girl's breathing had quickly become slow and steady as the blood ran down her face, staining the collar of Xavier's shirt that Scabior then ripped in half - exposing Olive. He ran his hands over her breasts, cupping them as she laid motionless.

A chill ran down his spine as he realized he'd never had his way with an unconscious woman before. He felt it was even more erotic that he'd been the one to knock her out.

He pulled her pants down, them sliding easily as they were two sizes too big. The sight of the girl laying limp in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts was more than he could handle. Despite how sexy he thought the image was, he tugged the boxers down, Olive's naked body soaking into his eyes. He removed his pink scarf, staining it with the girl's blood as he placed it between her teeth and tied it around her head tightly, in hopes that she might wake up and he hear her muffled screams before he murdered her.

The tears were still wet on her face as he removed the rest of his clothes, tossing his pants up near Olive. He ran his hand over her smooth stomach, traveling back up to pinch at her breasts. He had an obsession with them and loved to bruise such beautiful things. After several long minutes of being mesmerized with her chest, a small, muffled moan escaped the girl's mouth. Scabior abruptly stopped, his eyes darting to Olive's face. A dark satisfaction settled upon him as he realized she was still out cold. He reached down and grasped himself, rubbing it into her in small circles and he spread her legs graphically.

Nothing.

The girl laid still as he abandoned himself, pushing his fingers into her, determined to make her moan out again. He froze, drawing his hand from her to see it was spotted with blood.

So, she _was _still a virgin.

His excitement grew as he almost violently shoved his fingers back into her. He continued to slide them in and out until the girl gave a second moan and his hand slowly became covered in her. He removed his hand and slid his fingers up a few inches, beginning to work on the girl's most sensitive spot.

Olive had never felt this way before. She was...on _fire._

She felt a dull throbbing in her face, but it was _nothing _compared to the shivers of heat that were crashing through her body.

Olive swam the surface of consciousness, actually _feeling _the moan she released leave her mouth instead of only vaguely thinking she'd made a noise. The closer she came to the surface, the more intense and centered her pleasure became. She stalled on this level, crying out in pleasure, but could see the air on the other side. Something from deep down in her started urging her to swim. Olive knew she was drowning there, but as she raised closer to that breath she so badly needed, she instantly wanted to go back.

Olive realized what was happening.

She tried to scream, but the heavy water silenced her as she desperately swam for air.

She knew it was _him. _

She knew it was _his _fingers prodding inside her.

She knew it wouldn't be too long before something _else _was inside her.

_"Please! Please stop-please stop-please stop! Please-please-please!"_

She knew the words were not crossing her lips and the closer she came to the control of her body, the worse the situation became.

The words were not forming because he'd shoved something into her mouth.

She realized she was naked as the cold air clung to her body.

Olive concentrated with all her body, soul, and mind to snap out of it. She pushed herself to the limit, feeling the sheet of blackness slowly lift until she finally broke the barrier.

Unimaginable pain covered her as she opened her eyes, letting out a muffled cry.

Not a second later, his body was against hers as he pinned down her arms.

Olive tried to scream, a panicked sob leaving her as she came face-to-face with him. She began struggling by instinct, not thinking of the consequences.

It later reminder of a quote from one of her father's favorite movies, though she couldn't remember what it was called - "You panic, you die."

She writhed against him as he suffocated her with his body. Feeling his stiffness rub against her was only a grim reminder of what damage he'd already done.

Olive screamed out again, the muffled noise sounding pitiful to even her own ears.

"Don't fret, love," he murmered into her ear, nibbling at it between words, "You've enjoyed yourself."

Olive tried to break his hold, mortified that her moans had reached the outside world. She tried to beg him to stop, but the words came out as frantic, sloppy slurs.

"What? You don't want me to stop?" Scabior asked in a dangerously playful way, as Olive jerked her head from left to right, sobbing.

A wicked smile crossed his face as he brought one of her arms between their bodies and closed the gap between them, immobilizing her. He carefully released his own arm and reached down, rubbing himself into her tauntingly.

Olive shrieked and resisted with all her might, her scent bouncing erratically around Scabior as he lost his will to wait any longer. He fully pressed himself into her, Olive erupting in pain as she screamed. Scabior made a noise from the back of his throat as he slowly slid out and back into her.

Tears slid down her face as he released her arm to his tight grip and slammed it back into the mattress.

"What would your daddy think now?"

She sobbed loudly through the scarf, pushing that thought from her mind. Her arms were beginning to burn and ache from the strain of struggling and she began kicking her legs in protest instead.

He could feel her every move. Every kick, every heaving sob. It only encouraged him to beat into her faster and harder.

Olive left. She was no longer there.

Her body was motionless as he violated her - _raped _her.

She didn't know how long she stayed in this limbo. It could've been minutes, it could have been hours, it could have been days. She just floated about peacefully, the grim knowledge of what was happening pressed into the back of her mind.

Olive's head laid at an angle, no one behind her eyes. Her eyes drowsily scanned what was in her line of vision. Her wand lay across the room on the floor. Her bag was still propped against her bed. Scabior's pants were piled next to her, his wand half-tucked into one of the pockets.

Wait, _what?_

Somewhere from withn, Olive emerged again. She laid still, gazing at the wand in disbelief. Her arms were still trapped.

_"Think, Olive! Think!"_

She quickly leaned her head back into the pillow, arched her back, and let out an embarrassing moan. Olive thought it sounded absolutely ridiculous - not being experienced - but, Scabior paused, convinced, before pounding into her with more intensity.

She was disgusted with herself as she began thrusting her hips upward in rhythym with him, letting another loud moan pass through the scarf.

She tried to tug her arms away slowly. He abandoned her wrist closest to the wand completely as he got caught up in the moment and placed his arm on the headboard for support.

It was now or never.

Her arm shot out, grabbing the wand and pointing it toward him quickly. She blasted him away from her with a red flash and rolled onto the floor - wand in hand - disappearing with a crack.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Sorry. It's been a long week. My sister randomly had surgery out of the blue and I was busy one day shooting for my friend's webseries. Also, yes, I have typos. I'm sorry. I try my best, but I'm typing on WordPad and online spell-checkers don't seem to be doing the trick. My apologies. Message and review, you know the drill.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

_"I had no clue how I'd gotten there. That is what scares me the most. I can't afford to be making mistakes like that. I MUST always be aware. Scabior is always lurking." - An excerpt from Olive Westin's journal._

**Chapter 4**

Olive had no concept of time.

She wasn't sure how many hours or days had passed. She thought she remembered it getting dark once - or was it twice? The more she thought about it, the less she could remember.

When she'd first landed, naked, in the freezing woods, she watched the snow around her face slowly melt into scarlet mush. Or maybe it happened quickly - she couldn't recall. She grew tired after awhile and closed her eyes. Some amount of time later, she opened them back up, noticed the sky was growing dark, and drifted back to sleep.

She remembered opening her eyes again to the blinding white snow. She remembered closing her eyes. She remembered opening her eyes once more, noticing her left eye didn't quite open all the way.

_"That's funny," _she'd thought.

She closed her eyes again.

Olive was dying.

The amount of strain it put on her to apparate, with another wizard's wand, no less, had drained what little energy she'd had left. Her eyes didn't open again while she laid, half-buried in snow, and welcomed the deep waters surrounding her.

Far away from Olive, in some unknown wood of Scotland, Scabior stared ahead of him bitterly.

He was more infuriated now than he'd ever been. That was twice now that she'd tricked him - and the second had been a much more personal blow to his ego. For two days now he'd searched for her secretly, telling the men that Xavier had decided to stay at the pub for a few days. He began to feel, after the fifth location they'd checked, that this simple task was becoming more impossible as they went.

He looked back down to the muggle fairy tale book he held in his hands, opening the front cover and smiling darkly.

_**To my little Fruit Loop,**_

_**I hope you have a wonderful sixth birthday!**_

_**Enjoy these stories and dive into worlds**_

_**that you belong in much more than ours!**_

_**Love you always and forever,**_

_**Daddy**_

Scabior flipped to the first story in the book.

_"I'll find you, _my _little fruit loop."_

Back in the unknown forest, Olive imagined she was hearing footsteps slowly crunching toward her.

She imagined someone yelling. She couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman.

She sunk back under the surface.

When she woke the next time, she opened her right eye, her left not responding, and saw trees passing under a darkening sky. Or maybe it was getting lighter? She couldn't tell - didn't care. She remembered hearing voices talking back and forth, but she couldn't distinguish individual words.

She felt Death's boney fingers wrap around her ankles, pulling her farther under the water. She could barely see the light reflected on the surface. And then - nothing.

She gasped for air only seconds after this happened, terrified of the blackness that surrounded her. She clutched her heaving chest, happy to have air, and opened her eyes to an unfamiliar surrounding and an unimaginable amount of pain.

She'd only just been floating under the trees! Where was she? How had she gotten here so quickly?

"Blimey! She's awake!"

She looked quickly for the source of the voice and found a young man standing in front of a chair as if he'd just stood up quickly. Olive wasn't sure why, but she thought she recognized his face. She also couldn't get rid of a bad feeling in her stomach when she realized they were in a canvas tent.

What had happened to her? The last thing she clearly remembered was - what was it?

Her brain was too foggy and she couldn't think straight.

Why was she in pain? Why had she been laying on the ground in the snow? Why had she been flying under the trees?

She didn't know the answer to anything.

Another man burst into the room, his dark hair long and shaggy around his face and his wand pointed directly at her.

She'd seen him somewhere, as well, but she wasn't sure why it was giving her an even worse feeling than the tent.

"What's your name?" he demanded, his words filling the air with caution.

What did he ask?

Her name?

What was her name?

She scrunched her eyes tight for a few seconds and tried to recall.

"Olive," she said unsurely, then gaining confidence, "Olive Westin."

"Hermione was right, then," the first boy said, his shaggy, red hair falling into his face.

"What is your allegiance?" the second boy asked sternly, wand still drawn.

What?

"Pardon?"

"Which side are you on?" he asked, "In the war?"

War?

Olive seemed to remember suddenly that they were in a war. She remembered hating the dark side because they'd done something to her, but it was still too foggy in her head.

What was his name?

It nearly smacked her in the face as things were coming back to her bit-by-bit.

"Not Lord Vol-"

"NO!" shouted Ron, taking two steps toward her. "It's taboo'ed."

She blinked quickly.

_Taboo'ed. _

It sounded so familiar.

"What is your blood-status?" the first boy continued to ask.

"And what does that matter?" a furious voice interrupted, bushy-haired girl entering the room. "You're as bad as them, Harry!"

Olive knew her face more than the others. She strained her mind.

"I was just making sure she's not luring us into a trap!"

For some reason, Olive kept picturing the girl next to her in a classroom. Where did she go to school again?

_"Hogwarts."_

Things were coming back to her a bit quicker than before. The more she thought of it, the more sure she was that this girl had sat next to her in Muggle Studies.

"She's a _muggleborn, _Harry! Honestly! I go out searching for mushrooms and come back to an interrogation!"

Olive seemed to remember the girl smiling over at her in class, them both getting a high score on an exam.

"It could be polyjuice potion!" he yelled back.

"That lasts this long? _Twleve hours, _Harry?"

Twelve hours? She'd been out for twelve hours? It had only seemed like seconds.

The boy went silent, pausing to look at Olive before he stalked out of the room. The red-haired boy followed, shooting the girl an apologetic look.

It hit Olive like a ton of bricks.

Granger. Her name was Hermione Granger.

"Olive?" she asked quietly, coming to kneel at the side of the bed. "Are you alright? I'm sorry about Harry. What happened to you?"

Olive was quiet for a moment, but nothing came to her.

"I don't know."

As if her body mocked her, she visibly winced as she rose to sit up.

"It doesn't surprise me that you don't remember. You were in quite a state when I found you."

Olive's eyebrows shot together.

"Was I? How so?"

She hoped it might help her remember how she had come to be where she was. Hermione looked at her warily, unsure of how to answer.

"Well, you were pretty-well bloodied up. You had a broken nose, but I fixed it while you were out. I figured it would be less painful that way. Your eye was swollen shut, but it's gone down a lot. You've got a nasty black eye, if I had a mirror, I'd show you."

Olive grimaced to herself, angry that she couldn't think of a reason to be in that state.

"Your lip is still pretty swollen. I cleaned you up as well as I could."

Hermione suddenly paused awkwardly.

"And you were, um. You were naked."

Olive looked at her quickly, eyes wide. That ignited something in her brain.

"Don't worry!" she added hastily, not sure what Olive's expression meant, "I put you in my jacket first and put your trousers back on you before I yelled for Ron!"

Olive barely heard this. She remembered being panicked as she'd apparated. She'd remembered not being sure where she was going. She'd remembered watching her blood stain the snow around her as her body became numb with the cold. But, she didn't remember having trousers. She was absolutely sure, for whatever reason, that she was completely naked when she'd landed in the snow.

"Are you sure, Hermione? I don't remember having on trousers."

She looked at Olive oddly.

"It was strange. I didn't understand it. You didn't have them on - as I said, I had to put you in them. They were in your hand, tucked under you."

Olive winced again as she pushed back the covers, everything flooding into her mind at the sight of them.

_Plaid._

They were _plaid._

She remembered everything.

Her father.

_Him._

The rape.

_Everything._

She must have had them in her hand still after she'd grabbed his wand.

Olive looked down at the baggy plaid trousers in horror. He was _everywhere. _Even now, as she sat in the seemingly safe tent with Granger, Potter, and Weasley.

Potter?

"Olive?"

She looked over to the bushy-haired girl quickly, then back down to the wretched pants.

"It's nothing. I've just started...remembering things. Did I have anything else with me? A wand, at least?"

Hermione nodded and reached to the small table near the bed, grabbing a long, dark wand and a salmon scarf.

"It was wrapped around your mouth. Someone had tried to gag you," Hermione said delicately. "It was covered in blood from your mouth and nose, so I cleaned it up a bit."

Olive wasn't sure of many things. She had no idea where Scabior was. She had no idea where _she _was. Or how much time had passed since _then._

But, she knew one thing for sure.

She had to get the _fuck _out of there.

No offense meant toward them, but being with Potter was just a death sentence in disguise. They would attract the Death Eaters like flies to honey. She had to leave - she had to get out of there.

"I - uh...I don't want to intrude," Olive began, attempting to be civil for one of the first times in her life. "I'll just -"

"Nonsense," Hermione interrupted smartly. "You're still weak. We're..._I'm_ not going to let you back out for whoever to find you. At least not until you're completely healed."

Olive shakily stood from the bed, wand and scarf in hand.

"No, I - I don't think it's right," she said, walking toward the common area of the tent, where the boys sat and eyed her intently. "I don't really feel welcome."

Hermione huffed at Harry, grabbing Olive by the arm and dragging her outside.

Olive never knew Hermione well and she knew her the best of the three, which made the situation plain awkward. She'd sat next to her during third-year Muggle Studies, them both being top of class.

"You don't have to leave," Hermione whispered under her breath, leading them to a rather large tree where the girls both sat, leaning up against the thick trunk. "It's just, Harry's had the -," she stopped herself, her hand resting on her neck. She quickly put it down. "Harry's been in a sour mood."

"I -er," Olive started to say, trying to think of an excuse to leave, "Hermione, I'm being tracked. I don't think it's the best idea that I stay."

Well, it wasn't a _lie. _Just another reason Olive shouldn't stay. She was as much danger to them as they were to her. She didn't want to tell her that she was terrified to be around Harry - how could she honestly offend someone that at least had the humanity, in times like those, to take her in?

"Olive," Hermione started slowly, "What happened? Was it Snatchers?"

Olive noticed the sudden somberness in Hermione's face. She quickly became absorbed in picking at the frayed plaid while the fuzzy-haired girl eyed her down.

"I know you don't know me well. And I know you never talked much at all in school, but you can talk to me if you want."

Olive sighed, balling the fuzzy fabric up under her fingers. And then it hit her.

She would have no one to remember her if she died.

No one would know her story.

Maybe if she did tell Hermione, someone might remember her. That's all people wanted in the end, if you thought about it - to be remembered.

She took a shaky breath, deciding to just do it and get it over with. Hermione would probably bug her about it until she told her story, anyway.

"Uhm," she began uncertainly, "Well, they showed up a few weeks after the ministry fell. They had decided to go for the muggleborns first, but I'm sure you already know that."

Olive's eyes stayed on the thread between her fingers, not seeing Hermione shake her head.

"No," Hermione said, realizing Olive didn't see her, "We've been on the run since the night the ministry fell."

Olive sighed, silently scorning herself for not doing the same. Maybe then her father would still be alive? Maybe she should have been more brave. Left home. He might still be sitting in his wing-back chair and listening to Frank Sinatra.

Scabior closed the book as one of his men walked near.

"Camp's packed, sir. You almost ready?"

Scabior nodded.

"Where to, then?" he asked his leader.

Scabior sighed, absent-mindedly rubbing his thumb over the bookcover.

"There's a bit of forest that has had some sightings. Get everyone together because I'm only giving instructions once."

Hermione gasped as Olive told her of her father being killed.

"So, then what did you do?"

Olive stopped picking at her trousers and turned her attention instead to scraping at a hang-nail.

"Well, I...I killed them. The two that were still there. And I stole one of their identities. Caught up with the others."

Hermione was dead quiet as she talked, secretly impressed that the girl had it in her to kill.

"And I waited. And waited. But, the perfect time never came. He figured me out before I had a chance and then..._this _happened."

Olive pointed to her face for emphasis and was quite glad that Hermione hadn't noticed the gaping hole in her story - that she'd been Snatching muggleborns, half-bloods, and blood-traitors while disguised.

"What did they do?" Hermione breathed, captivated by her story of escape. She'd never known this quiet girl from school could be such a strong survivor.

"Well, I'm not sure if everyone knows who I am or not. I know he does. By he, I mean our unit leader. He, uhm...he. He tricked me into cornering myself in our tent. Disarmed me. _Aperio'_ed me." She glanced at Hermione, but wasn't surprised to see that she understood the spell. It wasn't exactly common knowledge, but she _was _very bright for her age. "Then, he, uhm. He. Well, he knocked me out. And he did - he did what real mean don't do."

She glanced at Hermione, but didn't need to see the repulsed look on her face to know she was clever enough to understand what she was trying to say.

"And he's still out there. I shouldn't be here. I'm putting you at a higher risk."

Hermione nodded slowly, her eyes telling Olive she was not quite there.

"Olive," she started suddenly, as if everything depended on it, "What's his name? Your unit leader? So, I know. I'll know who he is if we ever come across some Snatchers."

Olive stopped picking at her hang-nail and looked Hermione dead in the eye.

"_Scabior. _Dreagan _Scabior._ And if you ever come across him, you get out. Away. Don't stay for your friends. I've seen...terrible things. I can't even count how many women I've personally seen him force himself on to. He rapes them, Hermione. He rapes them in front of our entire unit, while they laugh and jeer. And when they stop struggling, or stop fighting back, he kills them. I watched him finish with a dead body once. A dead _girl. _She wasn't even sixteen yet."

Hermione nodded quickly, averting her gaze, and Olive instantly felt a rush of remorse. She knew she shouldn't have worried her like that, even if it was true. She also realized that Hermione must want to talk too - she knew what it felt like to be the only girl among men for months at a time. It was rather lonely after the first few weeks. Olive had been so caught up in finally getting some things off her chest that she hadn't realized they hadn't once spoke about Hermione's life. Normally, Olive wouldn't care, but she was cherishing these few minutes of girl-talk she had. They might be her last.

Scabior closed his eyes and took a deep breath as his men set up camp.

It was faint, but there was the slightest trace dancing through the air.

_Honeysuckle._

The girls chatted quietly for awhile, growing more and more comfortable with each other. Hermione was telling her how she'd erased herself from her parent's memory - how they didn't even know she existed. Olive thought this was even worse than losing a parent. At least _she _could pretend her father was looking over her - guiding her, even. She didn't think she could handle how isolated Hermione must have felt.

"I just...I would do anything in the world to go see them. Just to watch them from outside the window. Just to make sure they're okay."

Olive felt miserable for her. She knew she'd be the same way if her father was alive and she was on the run - which is why he was dead, anyway. She wasn't strong enough to leave as Hermione had done. She'd condemned him.

Suddenly, Hermione was the bravest person Olive had ever met.

"So, why don't you go? You'll feel better," Olive asked.

A small smile perched on Hermione's lips.

"I've talked about it, but they don't think it's such a good idea," she replied, nudging her head toward the tent.

"Rubbish. Just go. They don't have to know if you leave."

The smile broadened on her face.

"It's just the three of us. They'll notice if I'm gone."

"No, they won't."

Hermione began to protest, but Olive was too busy concentrating on the girl's face. She started with her nose, crafting her own into a slightly smaller and sharp one. Then, her eyes - she could feel her skin tightening as they became smaller, flooding with the muddy color. Hermione watched in awe as the girl in front of her transformed to her twin.

"Just go get a quick peek. I'll stay out here and act like I'm reading or something."

Hermione sat, dumbfounded.

"I-I. This isn't right. _Why?_"

Olive didn't know.

She was just suddenly consumed with making sure Hermione saw her parents. She just..._had _to.

"I can't imagine what it feels like, Hermione. To not know if they were alright or not. Just do it. _Please._ I'm in your debt."

Hermione was quiet for a moment, but Olive knew she was seriously considering.

"Go on. Quickly. Trade me clothes. Just go take a peek and be back in ten minutes. They'll never notice."

Still, she hesitated.

"I promise you. This is not a trick. You can take my wand with you if you want. I'll be useless against two grown boys who are armed with wands without one myself."

Hermione looked over her shoulder toward the tent before quickly reaching into a small, beaded bag and pulling out a pair of jeans.

"How'd you do that?"

She looked at Olive quickly before catching on.

"Undetectable Extension Charm."

Olive was amazed.

"Do you - do you think you can find a spare bag at your home? And do that for me? I need to go back to my house for more things and it would help to have more than one change of clothes. I won't have to stop as often for wash."

Hermione nodded quickly.

Olive hastily changed into the jeans, glad to get the plaid fabric away from her. Hermione turned the other way out of respect for Olive, since she had no underwear.

"I'm going to tell them I'm seeing you off," Hermione told her quickly, headed toward the tent. While she was gone, Olive felt an even larger pang of sympathy for the girl when she felt how frizzy her hair was.

Hermione returned quickly and held out her hand to Olive, who slowly placed Scabior's wand in her grip.

"Just a precaution," Hermione said apologetically.

"No, I understand. I'd do the same. Just _please _make sure I get it back."

She smiled, nodded, and with a crack was gone. Not two seconds later, Olive heard a twig snap behind her. She spun wildly and her heart stopped, seeing two men from her unit struggle with an unconscious body.

The men walked right past her, Olive quickly realizing there must be protective enchantments around the tent and she was standing right near the barrier. They continued as if they hadn't even noticed her, Scabior slowly slinking behind "supervising". His head turned from side-to-side wildly as Olive stiffened quickly.

"What's that?" Scabior asked, knowing it was her.

But, where _was _she?

"What?" one of the men asked.

"That - that _smell._"

Olive stood dead still and held her breath. Scabior didn't understand - she should be _right _there.

"I don' smell nuffin'," the same man roughly replied.

Olive closed her eyes and blocked them out - they weren't real. They weren't there. Over and over she repeated it until, finally, she believed her own lie.

They weren't there. She'd imagined it.

Scabior continued following his men - she wasn't real. She wasn't there. Over and over he repeated it until, finally, he believed his own lie.

She wasn't there. He'd imagined it.

Harry stood behind Olive, thinking it was Hermione.

"Snatchers. See what sort of lot that Olive brings about?"

It _was _real. They'd stood face-to-face, not a foot between them. Her scent...he'd known it was her!

"He smelled it," she said to herself, biting the inside of her cheek as she remembered Harry thought she was Hermione.

She thought quickly on her feet, one of her best features.

Just as Harry was about to ask "What?", Olive added quickly, "My perfume."

She didn't want to give herself or Hermione away. But, she knew one thing - Hermione needed to hurry. She had to get out of there _now. _Or else they all might be captured.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: As I've already told a few of you through messages, my notebooks decided to be little assholes and run away from me. I've no idea where they are, for real. This was originally written with what will be the next chapter as one, but due to my unfortunate problem of losing things, I had to re-write and cut it in half JUST so I could finally get something on here for you. I'm pretty upset because I had the next two chapters of this and my Draco fic written out. Regardless, here's what I can give you on short notice! Message and review, you know the drill!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

_"He was right there. I feel like he's everywhere. Even now, in my own house." - An excerpt from Olive Westin's journal_

**Chapter Five**

Olive leaned back against the tree and began to grow anxious. She had no way to tell the time, but she knew it had been a good while since she'd shoo'd Harry back into the tent to keep watch for Scabior in peace. She was sure a good half-hour had past since she'd seen the Snatchers pass so closely by.

She felt sick. A deep, gut-wrenching scream had pierced the air just moments ago as rich laughter she knew too well echoed along side it from the distance.

As if her silent prayer was answered, a small crack was heard before her and Hermione suddenly appeared. She gazed at Olive apologetically, rushing over toward her and pulling a large, canvas backpack from her distinctly smaller handbag.

"I'm sorry!" she gushed, "They weren't there. I had to track them down to their vacation in Austrailia!"

Olive reached out for the bag in silence, not realizing the most important factor in her situation - the laughing had stopped.

Scabior paused somewhere out of their sight for a moment, knowing he'd heard someone apparate and small voices carrying unwillingly through the air.

"Take him to the Ministry," he said, gazing out toward the direction of the muffled sound, "I think we may 'ave more lurking about. Go get your gold an' grab dinner - I'll call if I need you."

The men all nodded quickly, glad he was giving up his share of gold - it was a considerable amount more than theirs.

They were all tired from the days work and each sincerely, but secretly, hoped they wouldn't feel the familiar tug as he called them to him.

"An' after that, sir?" one man asked, straining to hold the mudblood still.

"Just meet me back at camp. We'll stay here for the night. Booke is going to meet us 'ere later."

Olive quickly shoved the plaid trousers into the backpack and grabbed her wand from Hermione's outstretched hand. The silence passed between them, neither one at fault for not hearing the soundless approaching footsteps. Olive's stomach released as she heard several pops in the distance - they were gone.

Hermione looked around wildly, danger and horror filling her eyes.

"They're leaving. Already been through here. It was _him._"

She looked at Olive quickly, the expression on her face rigid.

"I have to go, Hermione. He knew I was here. I can't be here any longer and you lot need to leave, too."

The words felt thick and unpleasant in Olive's mouth.

She tightened Ron's oversized shirt around her, making sure at the same time that Scabior's trousers and scarf were safely tucked away in the bag. She knew she was stalling, but her mind was clumsily stumbling on her parting words for the girl who'd had enough compassion to take her in.

"Thank you. I - I'm not quite sure what to say. Just...thank you. I hope we see each other again some day."

A small smile played on Hermione's lips as she nodded. Olive couldn't be sure, but she thought she saw the girl's eyes reflecting a bit more of the bright sky than they normally should.

Olive turned and slowly passed the barrier, strangely thinking that an infant leaving a mother's womb was the only thing comparable to the sensation.

She gripped Scabior's wand in her tight fist as she concentrated on her destination.

Hermione's words bubbled out slowly from what now appeared to Olive as thin air.

"Where will you go?"

Olive's eyes clenched as she envisioned where she needed to be.

"Home," she said simply, turning on her heel as the ground left her feet.

Scabior watched as she disappeared, apparating with _his _wand.

He leaned back nonchalantly against a tree, absent-mindedly wondering who lay tucked away under the invisible charms not thirty yards away from him. His mind moved on to other things slowly - he counted down the time.

He was giving her a head start.

Olive landed roughly on the plush cream carpet of her living room, bracing herself against the couch as her knees buckled beneath her. She _really _needed to find a new wand. His was decent enough, but it was too different from her own and really drained her energy to use it for something so advanced.

Once she'd steadied herself, she glanced around uneasily and was glad to see the living room in pristine condition - the bodies no longer there. The Ministry had taken care of it, then. There would be nothing here - no couch, no pictures, no winged back chair - had the muggle police been called there first. The Ministry had stepped in, cleaned up, and left it to be found another day.

Olive's heart ached as she saw the corner of a CD case poking out from the cushion of her father's chair and she stood abruptly, charging up the stairs.

She needed to get her things and leave - she couldn't stay there. The true realization that she was alone had never hit her so hard. She walked past the discarded towel in the hallway that had been ripped from her hair all those months ago. Or, she thought it had been months. How long _had _she been gone?

She walked briskly into her room, one thing instantly catching her eye - a small blue notebook lay silently waiting on her bedside table. Her journal. It had been summer when Scabior had come for her, but she couldn't even remember which month. She approached the book apprehensively, not believing that she'd forgotten all about her old friend so quickly. Olive quietly picked up the book, ran her hand over the cover, and opened to her last entry. Without reading what she'd written, she checked the date.

August 25th.

She knew it had only been a day or so before he'd come - she wrote in her journal quite often.

Olive looked out her window quickly, seeing a small dusting of snow resting on the ledge.

Late November at the earliest?

She didn't know.

She found herself pulling the pen from it's spiral binding and jotting down undated entries on some of her experiences she'd had since she'd left home. She found a sad familiarity when she wrote - comfort. But, she knew she was wasting time here. She snapped the book shut after a few minutes, replaced the pen, and gently placed it in the front pocket of the backpack.

She pulled the scarf and trousers from the bag, discarding them on the bed and decided, if the water was still turned on, she would run a load of clothes and take a proper shower before she left her home for the final time.

Her body froze rigidly as the floorboards creaked downstairs. She remained quiet for a moment, not daring to move one muscle.

Nothing.

She remembered that her house "settled", as her father called it. She felt it was an ominous sign, nonetheless.

Making the decision to get the hell out of the as quickly as humanly possible, she threw open her closet and began grabbing things and stuffing them into the bag almost violently.

She turned toward her bed.

A pillow? Yes, she'd need a pillow.

She walked quickly into the hallway and opened the closet, stuffing a few towels and rags in the bag, as well.

Her father's door was cracked open and she didn't hesitate to stalk in and quickly grab some of his clothing. She didn't know if she would have to impersonate another man or not and it was best to be prepared.

She thought the tent and sleeping bags where in his closet, as well, from those camping trips she'd taken with him years ago. She felt around in the dark closet until she felt the thick drawstring bag which held the muggle tent.

Olive struggled with fitting the sleeping bag through the backpack's opening at first, but took off toward the bathroom as soon as she was successful.

She continued to throw things into the bag, not quite shaking a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Two boxes of unopened soap. _Actual _shampoo and conditioner. New razors.

She was in heaven.

Olive's hands flew wildly around her - grabbing this and that - until she'd reached for her hairbrush.

Her hand was suspended in the air - fear coursing through her.

There was a wand being pointing into the back of her hair.

No time to react before she heard the enchantment.

_"Imperio!"_


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: Eep. I was going to update my Draco fic, but couldn't stand to update on that when I was only half done with this chapter! Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

_"He made me do many things. Things I hate myself for doing." - An excerpt from Olive Westin's journal._

**Chapter Six**

A satisfied grin tugged his unshaven features up in a rare form.

Keeping his wand pointed at her head, he spoke out to her and broke the seemingly endless silence.

"Turn toward me."

Olive floated among the devices of her mind - a cage surrounding her. She had heard his commands and she fought the urge to obey, banging her fists tightly on the shrinking walls around her.

Scabior watched as she twitched in a strange manner, mentally fighting his influence in her head.

_"Turn. Toward. Me," _he said again with more authority.

Olive struggled against the restraints that burst around her, squeezing her tightly as the cage grew smaller and smaller. The bars were soon pressing against her body and face. She tried to scream out, but no noise came forth. She couldn't breathe - she was being suffocated. The ropes immobilized her, wrapping up around her neck and holding her still as she gasped for air. They began to wind around her face, tightening into her skin.

And then it happened.

"Olive," he spoke firmly, growing annoyed, "I told you to _turn around._"

The ropes pulled so tightly they they went through her, as if she was smoke. A deep fog rolled into her mind, tugging her body around as if she were a hand puppet. Somewhere within herself, she screamed out helplessly, knowing she couldn't put up a worthy fight.

As the girl turned toward the man, her emerald eyes wide and vulnerable, he smiled again and slowly set his wand on the sink. He knew once he had full control of the girl, she would obey until he dropped his influence.

"There we go," he murmered, running the back of his hand down her cheek, "That wasn't so bad."

He admired her for a moment before he continued, brushing the golden hair from her face.

"See," he said, tracing her neck with his palm, "I wouldn't have to hurt you if you would just learn to be'ave yourself."

Olive wanted to fight, but she couldn't find it within her body to follow through with the actions. All she could do was stare openly up to his rugged face as he ran his hands over her neck. He leaned close to her, his fingers gently grabbing her hair as he brought his face into it, taking in the lovely scent.

After a moment, he raised his head up and stepped back, his hand outstretched.

"Give me my wand."

Olive instantly reacted, grasping the wand which was tucked under the waist of Hermione's jeans.

_"Stop. Stop. Stop," _Olive willed herself frantically as her body betrayed her, handing over the wand to the rightful owner.

Scabior's eyes lingered on her waist before grabbing the wand. He laid his hand on her hip, his fingers tracing down to the bare spot where his wand had just laid. He watched her face closely as he slid his finger under her jeans.

Her eyebrows twitched with just the slightest movement.

"What an interesting place for the safekeeping of my wand. Miss me, did you?"

Inside, Olive was clawing the man's face off for laying his disgusting hands all over her again, but he only saw the slight quiver of an eyebrow once again.

His chest filled with sick contentment knowing that he'd made her mad enough to break her exterior form.

Even the smallest twitch could be triggered only by a passionate emotion. Scabior basked in knowing it was her hatred for him that caused the tiny movements and that he held someone who so strongly hated him right in the palm of his hand.

He could clench his fist and finish her now if he wanted.

He could do anything.

Scabior pulled his hands away from her as a dark thought crossed his mind and he immediately reached into his jacket, grabbing one of several small vials from an inside pocket.

He uncapped the bottle and Olive grew confused. Why would he waste that on her? He was only supposed to use it to get answers out of the questionable people they found hiding.

"Drink it," he said, extending the vial of veritaserum toward her. Olive instantly took the bottle from his hand and downed the clear liquid in one gulp.

He waited a moment for the potion to kick in before asking any questions. He decided to ask something very simple first.

"Answer my questions. Do you know what you just drank?"

"Yes," Olive instantly replied, not enjoying the feeling of the words as they snaked up her throat against her will.

She felt this was much more violating than anything he could ever physically do to her. He had stripped her of her free will. Her heart filled with fear and resentment when she realized she couldn't even twitch her own pinky.

"Were you planning on staying here?"

Again, she felt the uncomfortable sensation as the words bubbled out of her mouth.

"No."

Scabior watched her with amusement in his eyes - it was so entertaining to him knowing that inside she was boiling, but he only saw a calm little girl.

"Then, why are you here?"

Olive felt a breath fill her lungs before the answer spilled out.

"To gather supplies, wash clothes, and take a shower."

His eyebrow rose quizically.

"You don't like baths?" he asked, visions of the girl soaking in the water pouring into his mind.

"Yes," Olive answered, not liking the turn in conversation.

"Why not a bath, then?"

A great smile crossed his face as he cupped the girls face in his hands.

"I didn't have time."

He rubbed his thumb over her cheek simply because he knew she couldn't do anything about it.

"Why wouldn't you have time, pet?"

He grinned wider as her eyebrow twitched yet again. He jokingly wondered to himself if he would make it out of the house alive once he released his influence from her.

"Because I was running from you."

Even though he knew she was on the run from him, he felt a surge of power fill him knowing he'd made her admit it out loud.

"Well, no need to hurry now that I'm here. Wouldn't want my little Olive to miss out on the luxury of a hot bath."

Olive watched him helplessly as she gave up the desire to fight.

It was no use.

"Take off your clothes," he demanded, stepping away from her to watch the scene unfold.

Olive had passed angry and now just grew sad and confused as her hands wrapped around her, pulling Ron's shirt over her head. She couldn't help feeling self-conscious as she exposed herself to him.

Scabior caught a masculine, woodsy scent as the shirt hit the floor.

Olive's hands struggled with the button of the jeans, Hermione being a good bit smaller than her. Scabior stepped forward, leaning in close to the girl and unbuttoning them himself. He found he was glad that he couldn't smell the other man on Olive.

She would've paid for that.

Olive stood before him and let him take in her naked body.

"Run your bath water," he told her in a somewhat distracted tone. He was hypnotized by the purple blotches that spread randomly over her pale skin. He felt a tug in his pants knowing he'd put the bruises there.

He watched as she bent over to turn the taps and instantly followed after her, pressing himself against her bent form.

"Stay," he commanded as she began to rise.

Olive could feel him against her, running his hands over her hips.

Scabior rubbed over the purple masses in awe.

_"This is true beauty," _he thought to himself.

An idea came to mind quickly.

"Come look at yourself in the mirror, love," he said, stepping away from the girl as she stood and walked toward the mirror.

Olive was shocked at her reflection, feeling frightened as Scabior stepped into the image behind her.

She moved her eyes to take in his face - the strong jaw line, the straight nose, the dark scruff covering his face. She watched his dark eyes as they did the same to her, watching the Cupid's bow of her lips, the curve of her cheeks, the light freckles on her nose. He looked up and met her wandering gaze, loathing behind her eyes.

"Take a look, Olive," he said, wanting to make sure she knew who was in charge, "Look at your lips."

Olive's eyes followed the order that had been given.

Her lower lip was still slightly swollen, the small cut peeking out from her mouth.

"Look at your eye."

It was deep purple, the outside skirted with a sickly yellow.

She felt him grasp her hand and hold it up, showing the dark bruises on her wrist.

He dropped her hand and met her eyes through the mirror again, running his hands over her exposed shoulders.

He lowered his lips to her shoulder and dragged them lightly toward her neck, all the while keeping his eyes on hers. Goosebumps erupted over the skin as his lips grazed by, all the way to her ear. He moved his arms down to wrap around her waist.

"If you would just listen to me, Olive, I wouldn't have to do these things to you. Do you understand?"

Oh, she understood. Did she agree with it?

No.

But, the potion didn't want to know how she felt about it.

It wanted to know the truth.

"Yes."

He smiled behind her, taking in the image of his arms around the naked girl. She really was beautiful. He closed his eyes and took in her scent, unashamed of his attraction toward the girl. He hated her - wanted to hurt her. Kill her. But, he still fancied her over the others, which was something he didn't bother to cover up. He liked it because it made her hate him more. And the more she hated him, the more obsessed he became with her. He wasn't sure if he liked looking at her beaten form or getting a rise out of her more.

"Would you be mad if I started calling you fruit loop?"

Her answer spat out quickly, disgusted he had the nerve to say such a thing.

"Yes!"

Her cheeks grew red and he watched the way it contrasted against her skin.

"Go turn off your water and get in the tub," he said quietly, watching the redness dissolve slightly as she stepped away from him and turned the taps.

More goosbumps erupted over Olive as she slowly lowered herself into the water, the warmth welcoming her after months of frigid lakes and ponds.

Scabior approached the girl and kneeled next to the tub. He placed his hand on her neck, forcing her to lean back into the water.

For a split-second, he felt her pulse under his fingertips - three quick beats until he lost the feeling. She was terrified that he was touching her.

It sent him over the edge.

Both his hands were on her neck in the blink of an eye, pushing her face under the water as the bubbles escaped to the surface.

He could feel her pulse again - quick and erratic. Scabior quickened his grip after a moment as both the bubbles and the beats began to slow. He could see her face blurred as the water began to settle, only a few lone ripples disturbing the image.

He held her there for a minute longer, the bubbles becoming non-existant as the surface cleared.

Scabior looked down on the girl, feeling himself grow hard as her pulse slowed a considerable amount.

Maybe after she was dead, he would slide in on top of her and fuck her right there in the bath tub.

His stomach clenched uncomfortably as her face became clear.

There she was - no air, barely any pulse - with the fucking angriest look he'd ever seen.

And that was saying something, considering she had no control of her body.

In disbelief, his hands went under her arms and lifted her back above the surface.

He quickly turned to grab the shampoo, not wanting the uncertainty to be seen on his face.

Why had he stopped? Why did he pull her back up?

"That was for stealing my wand and running off. Don't make me do that to you again, pet."

The piercing look she'd given him caused his blood to rush, filling him with excitement.

He quickly washed her hair, a surge of panic passing through Olive when he dunked her under to rinse it out. Her completely washed her - he was surprised to find that he liked her being dependent on him for such a little thing. He enjoyed the fact that he had complete control of her. That he wouldn't even let her wash herself. After he was done, he let her soak for awhile, glancing back up to her when he finally opened the drain.

Olive still had the livid expression on her face, causing Scabior's breath to catch in his throat as he thought of the girl under him, writhing against him.

She wasn't afraid as he held her under the water. She was madder than hell.

And it turned him on like nothing else ever had.

"Show me your father's bedroom," he demanded, their eyes never breaking.

All he wanted to do was piss her off more.

Make her hate him more.

He would take her dignity - actually finishing this time - and he would do it right in her father's own bed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **So, you guys are probably really angry with me. My netbook completely bit the dust and I was attempting to type on the chapters in my iPad, but it was proving rather difficult. I'm happy to announce that I am officially the owner of a new MacBook Pro - the first big thing I've ever bought with my own money. I've got a few weeks of school left and then you guys have me for the entire summer. This is a really short chapter, but I really wanted it to end where it did. Plus, it's sexually explicit, so that should make up for it! =)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

Olive crawled onto the bed as she had been commanded, her heart pounding with loathing and resentment. He grinned down on her body, still wet from the bath she'd just had. The water soaked into the sheets as he crawled in after her, leaning her back onto the pillows and running his hands over her exposed breasts. Her eyebrow gave another twitch and he took a shuddering breath, loving the fact that he was truly getting to her.

"Do you know what we're going to do?" he taunted, knowing the Veritaserum would cause her to admit it out loud.

"Yes," she barely whispered, glaring at him with such an intensity that he wondered how he hadn't dropped dead yet. He'd already had a plan and he concentrated intensely, only having done this one time before. It was difficult and had to be worded exactly right, else it wouldn't work.

"Close your eyes," he began, grinning slightly when her eyes shut without hesitation. "Now, Olive, I need you to think of the color white. Let all other thought go."

She didn't even have the chance to worry about what he was doing before her thought was gone, replaced by the simple nature of the color white.

He waited for a moment, seeing her eyebrows raise and knew he was as good as there. His grin widened, knowing this would humiliate her more than anything she'd ever experienced.

"Go to sleep, love," he murmured in her ear, his eyes rolling back slightly as he took in a deep breath of her scent. Within a few moments, he heard her breath fall into a slow rhythm.

"Can you still hear me?" he asked, running his hands down her stomach. After a moment of nothing, she sleepily muttered a yes. His next words nearly flew from his mouth, excited that he had successfully done it again. "Can you feel my hand?"

After another few moments, she murmured a yes. With a cheshire's grin, he brought his hands back up to her breasts, playing with the area around her nipples with a roughness that shouldn't be brought on such delicate skin. Knowing what would happen next, he replaced once of his hands with his mouth, biting down until he tasted blood.

Olive let out a cry, her eyes opening quickly. All she knew was the pain, but there was no thought as to why it had happened. The only thing she could see in her mind was the color white. She looked around her, seeing a man laying near her, but her mind was unable to make the connection as to who he really was. Her mind was asleep, while she was physically awake.

Scabior leaned down to her neck, running his lips along her jaw line, then nipping at her ear. He heard her lightly gasp and he pulled back, seeing the corners of her mouth pulled up in a grin. A shiver ran down his spine with the satisfaction of knowing he had truly manipulated her this time, her body betraying her. Without the mind's limitation, a human body would react this way no matter who the partner was. He'd had this epiphany in Azkaban and had tried it on the first woman he'd snatched upon his release, glad to see that his theory had worked.

Olive watched the man as his hand worked her breasts, not knowing to restrain the soft moan that escaped her lips after a few moments. His speed quickened and soon she felt a growing heat between her thighs. His mouth took over the other and the warmth from it sent a wave through her body, a louder sound escaping her this time. Without warning, his fingers dove into her, her back arching slightly as his hot breath met her ear once more. She closed her eyes, whimpering, as his fingers quickened their pace and his thumb began to rub into her in small circles. He spotted her busted lip, eying it for a few moments before turning his attention to her full face.

"Does it feel good, pet?" he asked, digging his fingers even deeper into her and causing another wave of heat to course through her body.

"Yes," she breathed out, leaning her head back as another load moan left her, the heat nearly unbearable.

His eyes found her busted lip again and he made a split-second decision to let himself go, his lips crashing onto hers and sucking on her bottom lip. Unexpectedly, she nipped at his top lip and he let out his breath in surprise, fully taking her mouth with his while his one free hand became busied with his belt. He pushed his fingers into her roughly and she moaned into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and digging her nails into his back. She felt him draw his fingers from her and she closed her thighs tightly, the heat making her quiver. He quickly positioned himself between her legs. She could feel him there, rubbing against her playfully while she cried out, her fists clenching in his hair. Her breath hitched as he pushed into her, barely entering before pulling back out. The feeling had nearly driven her crazy as she whined, seeing his dark grin. He pushed in again, only to pull right out. He enjoyed watching the quiver of her lips when he never fully entered, her chest heaving against his. He followed this pattern for awhile, the intensity between her legs nearly painful as she dug her head back into the mattress. His lips nearly met hers, grazing them as he huskily taunted, "I don't think you want it."

He pulled out again, teasing her. Her eyes widened, nearly unable to contain herself any longer. "I do," she said frantically.

"You do what?" he asked playfully, just wanting to hear her say it. Her voice quivered slightly as she answered, "I do want it."

Her grinned, taking her mouth in his again, but not touching her anywhere else. She bit down on his lip again, feeling him grin against her.

"Beg me for it," he said, his lips flitting against hers with every word. Even his hot breath was nearly enough to send her over the edge.

_"Please," _she whispered, meeting his eyes. He felt powerful as he thrust into her roughly, not able to contain himself any longer. Her body gave a great shake as she threw her head back, the pleasure of finally being filled taking over. He pounded into her violently, hot waves crashing over her. He continued this for quite awhile, then fully pulled out and slammed back into her, causing her to cry out as her nails drew blood on his back. She could feel the pressure mounting and knew she was getting close when he abruptly took hold of her, flipping over so that she sat on top of him. Not missing a beat, she began moving her hips against him as he thrust from beneath her. Her weight pushed him in just that much deeper and she leaned her head back, her hair trailing down her back, as she let out a long, pleasured moan. His thumb once again found her sex as he flicked it back and forth wildly, her stomach clenching up as her body began to quiver. The pressure was building and she thought she couldn't take anymore, but he moved both of his hands to her waist and began lifting her and pushing her back down quickly, the heat growing until she finally couldn't take it. She took a shuddering breath, just as he whispered, "Wake up, Olive."

Suddenly, she knew who she was and who he was, but it was too late. He slammed her down on him just as he thrust upwards and she cried out loudly, the moan carried from her lungs with the waves that crashed over her from her release. It went on for a few moments before she could contain herself long enough to let her tears start falling, remembering everything that had just happened. She sat still on top of him, her shaking hands to her mouth as he grinned up at her menacingly. Unable to control her humiliation, she covered her face and began sobbing, not able to be any more embarrassed than she already was. Her head fell forward and he relished in the fact that he had finally gotten his revenge on her. Now that he'd gotten what he'd wanted, there was only one thing left to do. He tried to remember where his wand was when she unexpectedly socked him in the nose, Olive jumping and taking off for the hallway.

He jumped up after her and caught her around the waist, swinging her around - hitting her father's dresser on the way - and pinning her to the wall, his hand around her neck tightly. She gasped and kicked, her fingers trying to pry his away.

"I don't need a wand to end you, love," he spat dangerously into her ear. She tried to knee him between the legs, but he dodged it, applying more pressure around her neck.

She looked up at him, trying to form words, but her lips were moving with no noise. She met his eyes desperately, giving him a look that told him she had something heavy to say - something that might interest him. He narrowed his eyes, but loosened his grip. She'd never given him a look like that before and he felt curious as to what she had up her sleeve this time. Maybe he wouldn't have to kill her yet. He had to contain himself from grinning, thinking that maybe the games could continue for awhile.

"Make a deal with me," she struggled to say, trying to bargain her way out of death. Anything to buy more time.

Scabior let out a cold laugh, locking his gaze on her emerald eyes, the dark bruise under one of them casting a deep contrast.

"And what would you have to offer me, pet?" he asked, playing along. But, what she said surprised him - surprised him enough that he released his grip completely.

"Don't kill me," she started, her voice almost begging, "and I'll take you to Harry Potter."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: I am the worst person on the planet, I know. I hate that I do this to you guys and don't update for ages. Here's the thing: I'm moving to Florida in January to work at Disney World. I'll be working really long hours and won't have time for much else, so I've made it my goal to finish this in the next month, since this is by far my favorite of the things I write. It may be an unrealistic goal, but I'm going to push myself to get as close to the end as possible. Winter break is starting soon, so I'll hopefully be pushing out a chapter every few days. I am terribly sorry for doing this to my loyal readers, who review with such wonderful comments despite my lack of regularity. You are a blessing, truly, and this would have been left to die long ago if it wasn't for your amazing reviews. For those of you who may not remember, I mentioned a few chapters back that Olive had once had a thing for Draco and he had a thing for her in return. That comes to play in this chapter and I didn't want people not remembering such a small detail and thinking, 'Where in the hell did this come from all of the sudden?' No worries, this is not going to become a Draco fic, I just thought it would be interesting to have that small history behind them, seeing as I've never really seen a fic with a passive, secondary relationship with Draco to a minor character. I hope you all are pleased with it! **

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

Her eyes were still swollen a quarter hour later after they had trudged through the deep snow and ended up in the warm house. The temperature, however, was about the only thing that could be considered warm about her surroundings. Everything seemed so dark and cold - almost grey. The possessions were so pristine - so sterile - that Olive worried one slight touch from her skin might break something that cost more than she would ever imagine. Even the people - tall, lean, pale - sat with perfect precision, their shoulders straight and chins upright, though the forlorn looks on their faces didn't seem right with the otherwise proud appearance.

The Malfoy's. Olive was sitting across from Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy in their parlor, the deep purple seats - which would seem plush and inviting on any other occasion - seemed horribly formidable in the thick air. Not a word was passed between them, though their blue eyes never left her emerald gaze. No, they certainly didn't trust each other. She was a mudblood, after all. Dirt - scum. This was a place where she certainly didn't belong. It was funny how things worked out. Two years ago, Olive would have never believed she would ever of ended up being within a million yards of them, let alone in the same room. Thinking back, she remembered those days at Hogwarts, watching Draco out of the corner of her eye longingly, teasing herself with things that would never come to be.

"What happened to your eye?" Mrs. Malfoy asked, fidgeting slightly in her seat as if she couldn't stand the silence any longer. Another long silence passed while Olive decided she didn't enjoy the tone in the woman's voice - it was an unattached interest which didn't sit well with her. It was almost as if the woman was judging her on the basis that a young lady, regardless of blood status, shouldn't walk around with a blackened eye, which angered Olive. The cool, piercing eyes of her husband watched silently, never leaving the girl in front of him.

"He beat me into unconsciousness and then proceeded to rape me," Olive said in a conversational tone, as if they were talking about the neighbor next door. Mockery could be one of her greatest gifts at times. Both of their eyes shot to the stone floor in an instant and Olive felt the ghost of a smile trace her face. There. Silence. The only way to ensure that the conversation didn't continue was the be blunt and make them uncomfortable, for they were not experienced with people who said things so openly. Of course, not, what would the neighbors think? A small shuffle was heard through the room, amplified by the silence, and the three of them turned to look at who had entered the room. There he stood - just as tall, just as lean, just as pale as his parents that sat before her. For a moment, there was a flicker of horror across his features while his eyes laid on Olive, though it was quickly masked when he turned to his parents.

"They're ready for her," Draco said evenly, his eyes flitting back to Olive again for the slightest second. His parents merely nodded, though she noted a small look of relief on their faces at the news. Unsure of where Scabior had even gone, she stood, not looking forward to going and meeting whoever 'they' were or whatever they were ready for her for. Without a word, Draco turned on his heel without so much as a look her way and she followed, a nervous flitting in her stomach that she hadn't felt since she'd last seen him. For a few minutes, they walked silently, though it was obvious after those moments that this house was much larger than it appeared and it would take them more than a short walk to get to where they were going.

"What is the date?" she finally asked, looking out at the snow covered ground from the tall windows as they passed. Another moment of silence passed and he finally turned to look at her, an almost sad look on his face while his stride slowed for her to walk next to him.

"December 24th," he answered quietly, looking back ahead of him as if the mere sight of her had burned him.

Olive's eyes found the floor.

"Christmas Eve," she murmured to herself, her own eyes burning for a moment before she straightened up and took deep breath through her nose. "Stupid question, I suppose. I just didn't see a tree," she added, falling into the quiet once again. Figuring that was all to be said, she was surprised when he continued the conversation.

"We didn't put up a tree this year," he said, a note of bitterness in his voice. "They said it would get in the way." From the sound of his voice, she could tell he wasn't talking about his own parents.

"That's sort of sad," she answered quietly, risking a look up at him. There was something sort of pitiful about the way that he looked, almost like a child putting on their father's shoes and marching around the house, dragging a suitcase behind them. Except this wasn't cute - it was sad.

"You didn't know it was Christmas Eve," he answered quickly, looking down at her and meeting her eyes for a few steps before returning his gaze to the long corridor in front of them. "I think that's sort of sad."

And it was. Honestly and truly, it was. Olive knew she was in a bad situation, but it took someone just as equally broken down to point out how pitiful the entire thing really was. Which, unfortunately, was not a word she liked to associate with herself. In the past few months, she'd thought she'd grown stronger - more able to take care of herself. She had, in all honesty, and that was the pitiful part. Olive was only seventeen years old and forced to grow up in a terrifying world for her own survival. Suddenly, she didn't feel so strong any more. Draco must have noticed because he stopped, looking down at her for a moment before turning around the opposite way and beginning to walk the way they'd just come from. Stunned for a moment, she shook her head a bit and started after him.

"Where are we going?" she asked quickly, right on his heels.

"I'm just going to show you something really quick," he replied, opening a door and stepping into another long corridor which ran perpendicular to the corridor they had just left. Olive followed him silently, looking around to the portraits around them, which watched on with feigned interest. About halfway down the hall, he turned and gave her a look that told her not to say a word, then opened a door on the left and stepped in. A confused look crossed her face when she saw they'd entered a bedroom, shortly followed by a horrified expression. Surely not. Surely, he wouldn't fucking do this to her, too. Her mouth was about to open in protest when she saw it in the corner - a small, baby pine tree sitting in the corner, clumsily decorated with ornaments that had been cut from paper and colored by hand.

"I figured they wouldn't find it in my room," he said, not having seen the look of horror on her face as his back was turned toward her. Without a word, she stepped closer to the small tree, reaching out her fingers to barely touch the thin paper which decorated it. The drawings on the small ornaments were elegant, colored thickly, and she couldn't remember a time when she had ever seen something so beautiful. Turning, she gave him a small smile, her eyes thick with tears. She'd gotten to see a Christmas tree this year - something she never would have missed had her father still been alive. Somehow, it was if he knew the sight of one would comfort her, no doubt knowing her father was dead. She was notorious, after all, for being the only person to have ever escaped Scabior and her story was widespread. The look of shock on his face when he'd entered the parlor was to be expected - she was believed to be on the run, not in the snatcher's clutches once again.

"I can't stand looking at you with that bruise on your face," he said suddenly, a flint of anger behind his eyes before he looked back to the tree. Honestly, she'd never expected him to say something like that, but it didn't surprise her in the slightest. He'd spent just as much of his time looking from the corners of his eyes at her longingly back in Hogwarts as she did him. It had been a mutual thing that they shared, with a silent agreement to never speak of it or to each other, really, besides the occasional 'excuse me', although their eyes usually stayed on each other during meals when no one else would notice.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, "It's not like I can help it."

"Can't you make it go away?" he asked, giving her a short look. With a sigh, she concentrated, changing the skin under her eye to match her normal tone. With no expression, he stepped closer, too close, and laid his hand on her cheek, his thumb pressing into the previously bruised area. The musky smell of his cologne hit her as she winced from the pressure on her eye, a soft relief to the pain he'd just caused.

"It still hurts," he noted, taking his thumb away, but leaving his hand resting on her cheek.

"Of course, it does," she said, looking up at him. He was so much taller than her, even taller than Scabior himself. "It's not gone, just hidden."

"What does he make you do?" he blurted, a note of disgust in his voice. There was something along the lines of withdrawn anger behind his eyes, though the tone of his voice was very even - it was quite obvious that he had been dying to ask the question, though she didn't think he really wanted to know. Olive swallowed thickly, for some reason not wanting to be as blunt with him as she had been to his parents.

"What do you think he makes me do?" she asked back, a note of misery clear in her voice. Another moment of silence passed and Olive had to wander how well Scabior would be able to smell Draco's cologne clinging to her shirt with merely three inches between them.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, his expression stone once again. The funny thing was, she could tell he was being genuine. Draco Malfoy apologized to no one.

"I'll live," she said with a note of finality, her chin lifting upwards proudly just as Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy's had earlier. "I've lasted this long haven't I?"

His thumb moved, lightly resting on her bottom lip and causing her to stiffen up slightly. Again, that sad look was back in his eyes, as if he knew she wouldn't have acted this way if it wasn't for the disgusting things she'd been forced to do.

"How is this any different from Hogwarts?" she finally asked, unable to meet his eyes. No, she wouldn't look away. With a wave of determination, she met his eyes. "There's no point in this, there's really not. It's unfair to both of us and you know it. I thought we'd established that much."

"We never established anything," he said, lightly rung his thumb over her lip, "We never spoke, how could we establish something without words?"

"You're being difficult," she said, though there was the tiniest possible smile on her face, "You know what I mean."

A tiny smile met his face as well as he looked down on her longingly. "I know," he finally said, "I'm always difficult, hence the relationship we held at Hogwarts."

For a moment, she did nothing more than take in his features - the fine, aristocratic nose that came from the finest breeding, the beautifully tragic grey of his eyes. "You're avoiding the question," she finally said, coming back to her thoughts, "How is this any different?"

Again, that sadness came back into his eyes, as if he didn't want to answer. There was a few moments of deliberation before he finally spoke. "Because either of us could die at any given moment."

Olive merely stared at him for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You know more than you're letting on," she finally said, reading it clear as day on the expression of his face. "Don't lead me into this blind, Draco, please. What's he got up his sleeve?" It was the first time his name had ever crossed her lips, the feeling of it foreign, but welcomed. Draco merely closed his eyes for a moment, then, in a spur of the moment decision, he bent down and he kissed her. It wasn't long, but it was sweet and chaste, relaxing enough to allow her to close her eyes for the time being. The warm lips on her's was a small comfort in a nasty world where everything had gone wrong and there was a distraught look on her face once the absence of that heat hit her, a moment after he had pulled away.

"We've got to go. They'll be wondering what's taking so long," he said, not looking at her, but at the door instead. She nodded, though he didn't see, and cast one more look at the small Christmas tree before following him back out to the corridor. Olive knew she was being led into something bad, something she certainly wouldn't like. What could be so bad that he wouldn't tell her - would allow her to be led into without the slightest idea? What could possible be deemed so bad that he didn't want to be the bearer of bad news? Certainly her conditions could be no worse. But, she quickly took that back when they finally entered the small office, Scabior standing near the fireplace with another man. A long-robed man who had haunted the lives of every filthy mudblood on the planet. A man with snake-like nostrils.

Scabior straightened instantly, giving a quick look to Olive, then a menacing glare toward Draco as his nostrils flared, eyes furious. Yes, he knew. He most certainly knew. That small comfort they'd allowed themselves would certainly not go unpunished on Olive's behalf. The sound of the door clicking shut was heard behind her and she knew she was alone with only the two of them, Draco returning to his previous duties. Honestly, she hoped he would put some tinsel on that Christmas tree of his - that's what she pretended he was going to do.

"Olive Westin," said the other man, the dark airiness of his voice making her skin crawl, "We meet at last. You certainly are a peculiar creature."

The time for honesty and comfort was over - she lifted her chin proudly and gave the Dark Lord her best glare, despite the small tremor in her now-clenched hands. "And why is that?" she asked in a clear, strong voice - the voice she typically reserved for the other man in the room.

"A mudblood," Voldemort answered simply, a grin growing on his face to expose the lethal looking teeth inside, "that is willing to sell-out those fighting for her freedoms."

That's what it was, wasn't it? At the end of the day, she was a spineless coward - he'd only just said it in a much more polite way. No, she refused to think like that. She quickly swallowed before replying. "I'm looking at this logically," she said proudly, her chin still high, "Potter is vastly outnumbered. I may be a mudblood, but I'm no fool."

The Dark Lord was silent for a moment, looking her over as if appraising her, though there was a clear look of amusement in his face. "No, you certainly are not," he finally said, offering her a terrifying smile. "Pity you weren't born of a higher caliber blood. No doubt the Sorting Hat considered Slytherin house."

She visibly stiffened, though she gave him a curt nod. How could he have known such a thing? Shifting on her feet, she finally lost her nerve and looked to the floor, unable to handle the intense gaze he was giving her. The was a funny feeling in her head and her eyes widened for a moment, though she didn't look up.

"Yes," he answered to her silent question. Yes, he was reading her mind. Scabior stood nearby with a quirked brow, unsure of what was going on. "Such a drive to achieve your goals," he said, the image of a lifeless Scabior crossing before her eyes. "And a will of steel," he continued, Draco's face following Scabior's. "Such determination for self-preservation. A Slytherin if I've ever seen one," he added, almost proudly. "This will make for marvelous entertainment. Come, take his hand."

Olive looked up with a questioning expression, seeing Scabior facing her, his right arm extended. Knowing better than to disobey, she grudgingly took his hand, as if they were about to shake. With the wave of Voldemort's wand, there were thick, rope-like bindings around their hands, causing her heart to pound wildly. Scabior, of course, could hear it, a grin curling onto his lips menacingly.

"We're going to do an Unbreakable Vow," he said darkly, even his eyes laughing at her. "After you're little stunts you like to pull, it's a necessary precaution."

Fury pooled in her chest as she practically snarled at him, forgetting their company. "And what if I refuse?" she spat, her eyes burning with anger.

"Then, I'll kill you right now," said the eerie voice beside them, "As you said, Potter is vastly outnumbered. We will eventually find him without your assistance, though you will greatly quicken the hunt. So, tell me, Miss Westin, will it be death or the Vow?"

Her eyes hadn't left Scabior's, even as the expression on her face broke into something along the lines of desperation. It was there, right on the tip of her tongue, but her pride won her over in the end, forcing the word back in. It was no matter - Scabior knew what had lingered on her tongue for a moment, threatening to fall out. Just knowing that the word had crossed her mind fed into his oversized ego, his chest welling up with some demented form of pride. She was going to beg him - she was going to say 'please'.

"The Vow," she whispered, her eyes on the floor to hide her distraught expression. A thick chuckle was heard from beside them, his wand still pointed at their hands.

"Do you, Olive Westin, vow to take me to Potter to the best of your ability?" Scabior asked, his gleaming eyes roaming over her face with a look of pure triumph.

"I do," she whispered, eyes still glued to the floor as the tears threatened to well up. She knew the promises would be far worse than that, promises that would bind her to do things she didn't want to do on pain of death. A thick, hot rope bound their hand tighter together.

"And do you accept the terms of Lord Voldemort's new world, that you will never again be able to use magic, with a wand or without, again, unless you are saving a pureblood wizard from death and preserving the bloodline?"

Olive bit the inside of her cheek as a tear ran down her face, dropping to the floor for the two of them to witness with joy. "I do."

Another thick rope bound around their hands and she nearly wanted to scream when one of his fingers began caressing her wrist. It was coming, she knew it. "Do you vow to be under my command and do to exactly as I say at all times, when we are looking for Potter and when we are not?"

Like a bomb, blowing away all hope she had of escaping him - of fighting him. Olive would have no choice. She would have to give in and do as he pleased. "I do," she said, looking him dead in the eye as a sign that she would find a way around it. Only a smile met her as another rope tightened, the circulation running low in her fingers which were now smashed against his wrist.

"Do you promise to cause no harm to me, in the form of assault or death, as an attempt to break this agreement or escape?" he asked, which made her want to break his nose right then and there. They had really talked this through, hadn't they?

"I do," she spat, the ropes nearly cutting into her skin with the newest addition.

"Finally," he began, his smile beaming as bright as ever in pure triumph, "Do you agree that, upon finding Potter - whether it is us that finds him or not - that, as a reward for helping Lord Voldemort, it is fair for you to not be killed, instead becoming mine, to do with as I please with all of the previously said vows in play until one of the two of us dies and the agreement is broken?"

A pain began in her chest, her heart thumping wildly as she began to panic. An entire lifetime of being his, to do as he said for the rest of her days. No fighting, no escaping. For a moment she considered death right then and there. Perhaps it wouldn't be too bad - she'd made it this far, it certainly couldn't get much worse. And if it did, she could always kill him when the chance arose, killing herself in the process for breaking the vow. That would be worth it wouldn't it? No, she wouldn't go out without taking him with her. Olive rose her head proudly, the tears still swimming down her face.

"I do," she said with a ferocity, the final rope wrapping around their arms and sealing her to him for the rest of her days.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Notes: Chapter nine, my lovelies, I hope you enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

When the two of them landed in yet another bland area of trees, Scabior promptly let go of her arm and took the bags from his back, plopping them to the ground. He was unpacking the tent before she could even blink and - once she realized what he was doing - she bent out of habit to help him.

Not a single word had passed between them since their departure from Malfoy Manor and Olive had to wonder why he wasn't gloating. In fact, not even a single triumphant look had been thrown her way - not even the slightest smirk. In all honesty, it put her on the edge, though she was careful to act as if she was unaffected by it. Surprisingly, he'd actually taken her back to her home to gather the bag they'd left there earlier, only after he'd dumped it and gone through everything there, of course. Scabior certainly wasn't one to take chances, especially when he was dealing with a girl who had killed before.

Once the two of them had successfully rolled the tent out, she stood back - silent as always - and watched as he used his wand to set the tent up. Olive thought spitefully to herself that she could have easily helped him had she not been forced from using magic again. As soon as the tent was up, he was inside without even a glance her way and Olive didn't like it. No, not one bit. In fact, it made the hairs on her arms stand up, wondering what he could possibly be up to. Treading carefully, wondering what she would walk in to, she entered the tent and was genuinely surprised to see him sitting at the small table, looking over a few maps while the bags sat nearby on the floor. Unsure of what to do with herself, she went to grab the bags, lugging them up and carrying them back to the bedroom. Everything was just as she remembered, not that she had been gone for long, and she heaved Scabior's bag up onto his bed, then made her way to her own, hoisting up her significantly lighter bag.

Everything was so - there wasn't even a word to describe it. Of course, she was angry - furious - at what had happened, though she had to wonder if maybe this worked out better in her favor. The other way around, she would have just been running until the end of time, eventually to either be caught by someone or just die from the weather or starvation or anything, really. This way, she wouldn't have to run at first - she could concentrate solely on murdering him and then - then - she could do the running.

Scabior had grit his teeth when she grabbed his bag, though his back was toward her, so he wasn't in any danger. This was going to be tiring, certainly. Under normal circumstances, he would've jumped at the excuse to throw her around a bit, but he had to tread carefully. Not really paying attention to the maps in front of him, he pushed them to the side when he heard her leave the room and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and giving a long, thoughtful sigh. It would take time, but he would make it happen - if only he could control his temper long enough. His anger had already been tested once and it wasn't even near a full moon - there were no promises when that small part of him that was wolf came out to play.

"Olive, come here," he called over his shoulder, leaning back toward the table once again. After a few moments, he heard some shuffling around and her footsteps carefully stepping his way. Even in the way he walked, he could tell this was going exactly the way he wanted it to - she was treading carefully. That was what he wanted. He wanted her to wonder what he was up to.

"You're sure she didn't say where they were headed next?" he asked once he was sure she was standing a safe distance away. Before they had gone anywhere, Scabior had taken them back to where she had last seen Hermione, but they were already gone.

"I'm sure," she said thickly, then cleared her throat. "I have no clue where they could be headed." The was a slight edge of fear in her voice, though she kept her eyes glued to the back of his head. What would happen if they couldn't find them? Surely, he wouldn't put up with her for too long. He merely grunted in reply, still not turning to look at her - this was going to drive her mad.

"What's the game plan?" she asked, unsure of what to say next. Honestly, she would much rather just go take a bath. That was one good thing about this whole thing - she could actually take a hot shower in the tent now instead of dipping in and out of freezing ponds to keep him from smelling her in the air.

Finally, he turned around and she was met with the murky darkness of his eyes before he moved his gaze to just beyond her right shoulder.

"I have no clue," he admitted, though it didn't sound angry in the slightest, which made her relax just the tiniest bit. "We'll start up tomorrow and keep moving, just like always," he added, his eyes flashing back up to her's once again. This was easier than she thought - he was talking to her just as he had any of his other Snatchers. Olive wondered if they would be joining later on, though she didn't voice this question. Before another word passed between them, there was a loud crack from outside and Scabior instantly stiffened, but not before Olive saw his nostrils flare slightly as he took a drag of the air. Within the second, the tent flaps were thrown back and one of the largest men Olive had ever laid eyes on entered. Really, he was quite frightening to even look at - there was an almost wild look to his entire appearance.

"Fenrir," Scabior said quickly, his eyes looking the man over quickly.

"Dreagan," the man replied, his eyes roaming over to Olive. "Is this the little sweetheart all this excitement is over? I find it quite amusing that such a tiny thing has given you so much trouble. "

Though the expression on this man's face was quite serious, Scabior gave him a dark look. Olive, on the other hand, gave him a small smile to which he replied with a tasteful wink, as if teasing Scabior was like some secret the two of them shared. Karma, she always comes back to bite you in the arse - now Scabior was left to wonder what Greyback could be up to. Fenrir was worse than Scabior ever thought of being. He not only raped women and young girls, but he had a taste for younger men, as well, and didn't kill them slowly, either. No, he tore them apart with his formidable claws, one cut at a time. He also had a well-known fetish for infecting children with his lycanthropy. Suddenly feeling very hot, Scabior stood.

"We were just heading out. I take it you've brought the documents?" he said, earning a questioning look from Olive. Hadn't he just said they were leaving in the morning?

The man nodded, extending his arm not to Scabior, but to Olive, a thick roll of parchment in his hand. Taking it in her own, she unrolled it with a tucked brow to see an official letter of pardon from the Ministry. Two things fell from the inside of the parchment when she opened it and that Fenrir guy bent to pick them up, handing them back to her and nearly causing her eyes to bug from her head. In her hand was something she was very familiar with, though she never expected her own face to grace one. A Snatcher I.D. card with her real name, real picture, real height, real weight - underneath it was the red armband which each Snatcher bore.

"Welcome to the winning team," the man said throatily, though Olive couldn't muster a smile this time around.

"If that's all, we'll be going," Scabior said, shooing Olive off to go put away the things that had just been handed to her.

"Actually," the man said, looking Olive over once more before turning to Scabior, "I was planning to stay with you for a few nights. I've been put in charge of your old unit and it'll take a few days to track them down to let them know. You two go do what you were planning and I'll get settled."

The air was tense, even Olive could feel it, but, finally, Scabior nodded and she hurried off to put her things in her bag. The man honestly didn't seem too bad to her, though he may just be in her favor because he took a jab at Scabior. Once she walked back to the men, who were sizing each other up quietly, Scabior took her arm and spun, apparating on the spot. Before she could even register where they were, his hands were on her shoulders and his face was level with hers.

"You are not to go off alone with him," he said, his eyes boring in to hers with such an intensity that it took her breath away for a moment. Once she collected herself, she merely raised her eyebrow.

"Why?" she said simply, though it was quite loaded. The note of amusement in her voice did not sit well with him and his grip on her shoulders tightened slightly.

"You think I'm bad," he said, his eyebrows raising to challenge her, "You haven't seen anything."

The words were slightly threatening and she unintentionally flinched away from him slightly.

"I highly doubt anyone could be a vile as you," she spat once she regained her composure. The was a deep silence for a moment, then he released her arms as if she was disgusting.

"I forbid you to go off alone with him. I don't know what he's playing at, but I don't like it," he said, looking her over quickly as if Greyback might have already laid a hand on her. No, he didn't like it at all - there was a strange feeling of possessiveness that stirred from within him that made him feel as if he would go crazy should someone else lay a hand on what was his, whether it was for death or for pleasure.

"Well, I don't have much of a choice now," Olive said drily, then turned away from him. Order number one out of who knew how many to come. Once she'd turned around, though, she realized that she was somewhere very familiar. The quiet that surrounded the area seemed extremely strange in Diagon Alley. A loud sigh was heard from beside her, but she didn't stay to hear the next thing out of his mouth. Instead, she took off walking, looking in the shop windows. Of course, Scabior had nothing to worry about - it would kill her if she tried to run off. Instead, he watched her retreating form with an irritated scowl, following her, though keeping a safe distance away. The spare person walked between the shops here or there, but his eyes never left his Olive. Eventually, she made her way into a shop, the bells clinging above her, and he leaned against one of the buildings to wait for her to come back out. Inside the shop, Olive gave a small smile to the shopkeeper who gave her a wary look and then she turned to the shelves. It wasn't as if she could actually get anything - she didn't have any money. She wondered if the shopkeeper could tell that she wasn't going to buy anything or if there was some other reason he was less than welcoming. There was a tree set up in the corner and a small sigh left her throat as she made her way over to it, gently fingering the different ornaments there. Content on making Scabior angry, she decided to ask that Fenrir guy if he would go get a tree so they could decorate it. Though, she didn't have anything to decorate it with, but she would figure out a way.

Olive continued around the store for awhile, just biding her time, and she closed her eyes with a grimace when the bells clanged again, knowing it was time to go. At that point, she had made her way around the store a full time and had once again found herself in front of the Christmas tree, admiring the ornaments. A heaviness settled on her back and she could tell he was standing behind her, though she didn't turn around. Instead, she kept her fingers on the ornaments, eyes tracing the small, ornate paintings on their surfaces.

"Would you like one?" he asked, his breath trailing down her neck as she stiffened, realizing he was a bit closer than she originally thought.

"I don't want anything bought with your money," she quietly spat, mindful of the shopkeeper. The was a moments pause where she heard coins clanging together from within his pockets.

"You've got your own salary now," he said and she couldn't help it - she turned around, meeting him chest to chest, and looked up, giving him a questioning look, though it was slightly accusing, as well. Surely he wasn't serious. "You're a Ministry employee - you make just as much as anyone else bringing mudbloods in."

From across the room, she heard the shopkeeper give a loud grunt of disapproval, but her eyes stayed on Scabior's face a small smile crossed his features at making the worker uneasy, as if the red armband on display wasn't enough. The coins clanged together again and he brought up a handful of galleons, placing them in one of her hands without taking his eyes from hers.

"Consider it an advance for good behavior," he said darkly, then turned and exited the shop with a smirk toward the owner. Stunned, Olive stood there for a moment, then shook her head and turned toward the tree, knowing exactly what she was going to do. There were two ornaments that had caught her eye and she quickly plucked them from the tree. One was a beautiful gold color, accented with deep purple swirls and the other was much more ornate - a thick silver triangle accented with green gems. Moving quickly, she plopped them on the counter and gave the man an exasperated look.

"Listen," she began in a hurried tone, casting a look back out the window, "I'm in a really bad situation right now. One of these is a gift. I'll pay you to owl it off for me - he'll never allow it to get where it's going."

Looking her over with a somewhat disgusted glare, he finally nodded. Probably when he realized she worked for the Ministry and hung around Snatchers.

"I am one, you know," she said quietly, giving him a deep look, "A muggleborn, I mean. I don't like that word any more than you do." She'd only said it to try and win him over - hell, she used the word herself. It really didn't seem that bad to her, though it was probably because she grew up in the muggle world.

In an instant, a confused look crossed the man's face, full of questions, but he decided it was probably best not to ask. Instead, he nodded, adding up the total of the two ornaments. She knew the one she was sending Draco - the silver and green one - would probably cost quite a bit, though she didn't care. Anything to help liven up that little tree of his. Once she paid the man and pointed out which one was the gift, he wrapped hers in delicate tissue paper and began to pack the second when Olive stopped him.

"Hold on, let me write a message," she said, not even asking when she ripped a blank receipt from the man's pad and grabbed a quill, scribbling two quick words before folding it and handing it to the man.

All it said was, 'I'm okay.'

After he wrapped it, he asked where it was going and Olive looked outside once again, noticing that Scabior was standing there with crossed arms, giving her a bored look.

"Draco Malfoy, Malfoy Manor," she muttered quickly, her eyes never leaving Scabior's as she slid the man three extra galleons and took her package, not seeing the grimace on his face at the name of the recipient.

"Happy Christmas," she muttered behind her as she made her way out the door to a slightly irritated looking Scabior.

"Took you long enough," he said, looking down at the tiny package. "I thought I saw two on the counter," he added, giving her a look.

"I decided on just the one," she easily lied. Scabior merely shrugged it off and that uncomfortable feeling crept back into her stomach as she wondered why he was acting so…different.

"I don't feel like making dinner tonight," he said, looking toward the pub almost boredly, "Let's just eat here."

Honestly, Olive had no desire to eat within twenty feet of him for fear of being poisoned, but she merely nodded, wondering if it was really about that man back at their camp.

"What about your friend?" she asked, trying to gauge him for a reaction. The man's name had seemed vaguely familiar to her, but she had brushed it off without so much as a worry.

"He is no friend of mine," he began, heading toward the pub and holding the door open for her. Yes, something was most certainly going on. Giving him an odd look, she stepped into the quiet pub, only one lonely looking man sitting at the bar and the toothless bartender giving them a wary look. Scabior stepped in front of her and led them to the back corner where a booth sat, sliding into one side as she slid into the other. Once they were tucked away from the other two, Scabior leaned over the table.

"Fenrir Greyback - as in the werewolf," he said darkly, giving her a knowing look. Yes, that was most certainly where she had heard the name - this was the man who had scratched Scabior to give him the heightened senses. And the full moon moodiness, she certainly couldn't leave that out. Back when she was impersonating Booke, she'd been on the receiving end of some full moon lash-outs on his behalf.

"He doesn't seem so bad," she said, though she didn't really even know anything about him. Olive only wanted to irritate Scabior as much as possible.

"Yeah, well, he's usually a bear to deal with," he replied, opening his mouth to say something else, then snapping it shut when the bartender drew close. The toothless man asked them what they would like and Scabior, to Olive's annoyance, ordered for the both of them and was sure to tell him it was on one check. Huffing, she crossed her arms and looked around the old building, not interested in continuing the conversation any further.

"You're the first lady I've ever had out to dinner that was angry about me paying," he said with an amused note, but Olive had developed quite a wit. with her years in Ravenclaw house.

"You've taken women out to dinner before?"

Now it was his turn to give her a look. Honestly, he enjoyed how she refused to let him have the last word - he loved the fight, no matter how muted it was.

"I have," he said simply, a small grin on his face. This was foreign territory for Olive - she was used to being beaten or yelled at, but not treated. This…there was something terrible in the works.

"Did they actually agree to it or did you Imperio them first?"

Scabior didn't answer, instead letting his lips curl up into a grin that made her actually wonder if he had Imperio'd women before - he'd done it to her, why wouldn't he do it to others?

The silence stretched out between them as the last patches of daylight scattered off, welcoming the cold night until the bartender finally arrived, placing a sandwich in front of each of them and an amber liquid that Olive didn't like the look of. She hadn't heard him when he ordered and now wondered how much it would take to convince a bartender to poison someone.

"It's only firewhiskey," he said with a chuckle, watching her as she carefully sniffed the liquid.

"I'm not old enough," she said with a determined look, as if she was waiting for an excuse not to drink it. With an expression of disgust, she pushed the glass away, but Scabior pushed it right back toward her.

"You work for the Ministry now - do you honestly think anyone is going to say anything?"

His words weighed heavily on her until she finally snatched up the glass and took a tiny sip, making a face as the liquid burned her throat. Scabior chuckled again and started in on his sandwich, so she began, as well, and the two of them finished in silence, only giving each other the occasional look. Once everything was squared away with the check and the two glasses were drained - it had grown on her - the two exited, though he still didn't seem like he wanted to go back to the tent yet.

At this point, Olive was extremely tired and the sleepy looking street didn't help matters any, nor did the cold. He, however, seemed perfectly content in pulling out a muggle cigarette and lighting it up, taking a deep drag off of it and blowing it in the other direction before giving her look. He didn't say anything, though - he just merely looked at her, which made her skin crawl.

"If you hate muggles so much, then why do you smoke those things?" she blurted, just trying to kill the silence. There was a long moment where he took another drag, thinking it over before speaking.

"I don't hate muggles," he said with a shrug, "Or mudbloods or half-bloods. I was in Azkaban and offered the job in exchange for my freedom - who wouldn't jump at the chance?"

Olive shifted on her feet, once again hating the silence that had settled, especially since he had been the last to speak.

"They're terrible for you, you know," she said with a note of disgust, "Not that I care. You could drop dead on the spot and I certainly wouldn't miss any sleep."

That earned her a loud, deep chuckle that echoed off the storefronts and into the falling snow.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't," he said with a bright grin. "They're quite nice, though."

Olive wrinkled her nose. "They're disgusting," she argued, waving the smoke from her face to use as a point. This smoke, however, smelled of cherries and she had to wonder how he'd magically altered them to make them that way.

Scabior looked away from her, though there was a grin that was evident on his face, even from her side view.

"You're just afraid you'll die the moment you smoke one," he said, taunting her. Honestly, it felt good to tease her back since he was carefully restraining his anger. A scoff from her direction was the only response and he chuckled again.

"I do not," she argued, her arms crossing as her cheeks flared. "They're just disgusting, is all."

He turned, facing her once again with a small look of triumph on his face - one she most certainly did not like.

"Have you ever had one?" he asked carefully, watched as she shook her head with a disgusted look. "No? Then, how do you know they're disgusting? Surely a smart girl like yourself would try something before judging it," he said, quirking a brow at her as he extended his own cigarette her way.

"How could they not be disgusting?" she said, turning her nose to the cigarette that was held out for her.

"Exactly," he said, his grin growing, "Absolutely afraid you'll drop dead on the spot."

Once again her cheeks flared and she suddenly snatched the cigarette from his grip, sticking it up to her mouth and sucking in the sweet, cherry smoke. Never having smoked before in her life, she blew the smoke back out and held her hand out to him, but there was a great look of amusement on his face and he finally let out a loud laugh.

"You didn't even inhale!" he said, even his eyes laughing at her. He took the cigarette back from her and held it so she could see. "Like this," he said, taking a step closer to her so she could more easily see - and so he had an excuse to catch her scent for a moment. He raised the cigarette to his mouth and took a deep drag, then lowered the cigarette so she could watch and inhaled deeply through his nose, finally blowing the smoke out of his mouth and straight into Olive's face. The sweet smoke attacked her for a moment, though she found that it was actually quite pleasant, even if it took her breath away for a moment. With raised eyebrows, he raised the cigarette to her again and she took it, not one to turn down a challenge from him of all people.

Raising the cigarette to her mouth, she mimicked him, though the gracefulness he had pulled off was not quite the affect she had when she started hacking her lungs out after inhaling properly. Scabior took the cigarette back and patted her back while she coughed, a smug expression on his face.

"Terrible," she managed to get out before hacking again. Finally getting herself to stop, she glared up at him with watery eyes.

"Well, we could always try the easy way," he said, earning him a questioning look from her before he took a long, hard drag and suddenly grabbed her chin. Before she even knew what was going on, his hot lips were against hers and he exhaled, blowing the smoke into her mouth. With wide eyes, she gasped, unknowingly inhaling the smoke much easier than last time. Once the smoke had left his lungs, he lingered for a moment, lightly nipping her bottom lip and finally pulled away as she exhaled slowly, watching as the smoke blew out easily to drift along the deserted, snowy street. Her teeth clamped and her eyes flared dangerously, shooting him a nasty look to which he took with pleasure.

"Let's just go," she spat, crossing her arms and giving him a dark look - she wanted him to know that anytime he pulled that shit, whether it was as simple as a kiss or not, that it was unwanted and she was furious about it. Not that he cared. Scabior only chuckled again and took her upper arm, spinning on his heel and landing them back in the tent for their first evening with the werewolf.


	10. Chapter 10

The night, well…it passed somewhat slowly. Fenrir, on Olive's request, brought in a small pine tree and together they decorated it while Scabior sat in the corner moodily, his eyes never leaving the werewolf. Olive, on the other hand, refused to so much as look Scabior's direction for the following hour or so and wouldn't have for the rest of the evening if Fenrir hadn't suggested a game of cards. Scabior grudgingly agreed, Olive rolled her eyes, and ten minutes later they were situated around the dining room table, Scabior drawing the sweet smoke of his newest lit cigarette into his mouth and blowing it in such a way that it assaulted Olive, who merely grit her teeth and shuffled the cards.

After a few rounds of the three of them playing, it became blatantly obvious that Fenrir had only suggested it as a manner of annoying Scabior further. It was a difficult game to get the hang of - Olive had never even heard of it before - and it involved playing certain cards which let you skip another player's turn. After only three rounds, it was an unspoken rule that Olive and Fenrir always ganged up on Scabior, who both hated to lose and was a sore loser. He must have been on his fifth cigarette in that small amount of time and his jaw was set while he glared at the other two menacingly.

"Oh, lighten up," said Fenrir with a cheeky grin, "It's Christmas, you prat, and this is only a game."

This only served to make Scabior's face darker as he looked down to his cards, Olive and Fenrir sharing a quick glance toward each other before breaking out into laughter. Of course, Olive knew better - she knew much better than to laugh at Scabior openly, but it was too hard to resist when she had such a fantastic opportunity and knew he wouldn't touch her so long as Fenrir was in sight.

Another bit of cherry smoke hit her and she suppressed the shudder that ran down her back, looking up to glare at Scabior who was grinning at her wickedly before laying a card down for his turn.

"Scabior, why don't you go get us something to drink. A firewhiskey sounds nice," Fenrir said lazily, reaching over for Scabior's package of cigarettes and stealing two without asking. He lit them both up simultaneously and handed one to Olive, who took it with a grimace, certainly not going to turn it down after the earlier incident. A moment hung between everyone - Scabior shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting to Olive, then nodded and stood. Olive could tell he didn't want to leave her alone with him and she shot him a rather nasty look, telling him she could take care of herself just fine. It wasn't as if Fenrir could be any worse than he was.

"What would you like, Olive?" Scabior asked her dangerously, an undertone of menace lacing through each word which Fenrir either didn't notice or pretended not to as he shuffled the cards.

"A butterbeer would be nice, butler," she said, tongue in cheek. Oh, she would pay for that, she knew she would, but she couldn't resist. Something about Fenrir's teasing made her want to do it while she could. Those small jabs made her feel loads better about her current predicament.

Narrowing his eyes toward her, he spun on his heel and was gone from the room.

"Stick in the mud he is, i'dn he?" Fenrir asked, causing Olive to force her head down to stifle her giggle. There, Fenrir wasn't so bad, was he? Scabior had expected her to be prejudiced against him for merely being a werewolf, but she'd gotten along well enough with Professor Lupin.

"You excited for tomorrow?" he asked, giving her a careful look, "First day on the job. Well, with pay."

Olive's brow furrowed as she realized what a horrid person she really was. Honest and truly, she was excited. Not to be condemning others like herself, no, but to be making her own money at it. It was the one thing she could control that Scabior couldn't and she would cling to that until she got out of this mess, then beg forgiveness for her sins after.

Before she could form a verbal answer, Scabior returned with a bottle, two shot glasses, and a smaller bottle for Olive.

"There," he said in an annoyed tone, "I'm finishing this game and then that's it. We've got a big day tomorrow and I'm not staying up all night with this stupidity."

Another small smile was passed between Fenrir and Olive, the latter bowing her head to hide it while the former nodded.

"Alright, then," Fenrir said, "I believe we were just about to kick your sorry arse again."

At that point, Olive snorted and covered her mouth quickly, earning herself another furious glare from Scabior. Fenrir dealt out the cards and the playing continued, stretching on another hour or so until the bottles were drained, Olive had won, and all three were feeling rather sleepy from the alcohol.

After a lengthy argument about who slept where between the two men, Olive (much to her displeasure) ended up in the double bed with Scabior while Fenrir took her single bed. This was, of course, Scabior's way. Fenrir had argued that Olive should take her own bed while the two men shared the bed, which only made Olive like him that much more. Oh, the look of horror on Scabior's face. Naturally, Fenrir had been joking the entire time, but never let it on to the other, only giving Olive a passive wink before the argument had even begun.

Olive was happy to see that Scabior didn't try anything funny, though she knew this was more than likely because Fenrir was there and definitely not because he was having a change of heart. Keeping her body stiff as a board, so as not to accidentally touch him in any manner, she eventually drifted off to sleep, where things got really bizarre.

At some point in her dream - whether it was more towards the beginning or end, she didn't know - Scabior had made an entrance. But, it was different. Although she couldn't recall exactly how he was dressed, she knew there were no menacing boots or plaid trousers. Not even his coat, which she'd hardly seen him without. That, though, was only the tiniest change compared to the rest. He was smiling, really smiling, and the feeling Olive got was what terrified her the most. It wasn't fear or loathing or hatred. It wasn't love, no, certainly not, but it was adoration. Even after she woke up, the feeling haunted her throughout the rest of the day. Pure adoration for him, her heart picking up as he neared with that smile on his face. He even laughed, then brushed the hair from her face as he looked down on her.

Olive's eyes shot open, then over in Scabior's direction accusingly, thinking he had messed with her mind while asleep, but he was facing the other direction with a steady stream of breath going in and out.

Her hands were shaking and she could barely swallow.

What the fuck was that?

What was that?

The rest of the night she couldn't sleep and she eventually slid out from the covers, feeling the need to put as much distance between herself and him as possible. As quiet as she could, she rustled through the things in her bag, pulling out a warm enough outfit for the day and practically running to the bathroom where she locked the door in a heartbeat. The clothes were thrown to the floor and the taps turned on cold while she wildly splashed her face a few times, looking up to the mirror, even her knees trembling.

What the fuck was that?

With no idea of the time, she changed hastily and went out into the bitter cold were she sat near fallen tree, feeling suffocated in the small tent. She brought her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her face between them, rocking herself to and fro to keep herself warm.

"What the fuck?" she whispered to herself, voice slightly frantic.

It was just a dream. Not even a full dream, really. He'd only been there toward the end and hadn't even said anything. It hadn't even lasted thirty seconds, it seemed. The dream was probably alcohol induced, was all. It had to be. She'd never, ever, ever in a million years dream of something so - she shuddered at the thought. Looking up at the pale blue sky, she ran a hand over her face, brushing the hair behind her ear just has he had, her bottom lip quivering slightly.

What the fuck was wrong with her? This man - this fucking monster - had beaten her, murdered her father, raped her, belittled her, manipulated her and there she was, fucking dreaming about him fucking smiling at her and she enjoyed it. She adored it! Silently, she shook her head, placing it back between her knees. It was nothing. It was her subconscious reaching out to tell her that was how she wished things to be rather than how they were. Yes, that made perfect sense. If he weren't such an absolute monster - had he never done any of those things to her - if he was normal, respectable, then, yes. She could understand that. She accepted that. She clung to that theory, which of course was incorrect, but that hasn't come into play in her story quite yet.

Inside the tent, the men dressed quietly. Fenrir was in a grog, noticing nothing out of place, while Scabior was sharp, knowing Olive couldn't have gone too far or with the intention of escaping. It was an ease on his mind, this vow they'd taken.

A twig snapped and Olive's head jolted up, looking right to the man who was on her thoughts, then right back down to her knees.

"You forgot your armband," Scabior told her quietly, watching her carefully as she fidgeted at his voice. "Come here, let me put it on you."

Olive's cheeks grew a vivid pink and she kept her eyes glued to the ground as she got up, almost as if it were to pain her to look away. Unknowing to her, a small smirk crossed his features as he watched her intently, slowing making her way towards him. Oh, brilliant - it was already working.

"Something wrong?" he asked, though he knew there was and he knew exactly what was causing the strange mood.

"N-no," she stuttered, taking a steadied breath as he wrapped the red band around her arm, tying it painstakingly slow when all she wanted was to put a twenty foot distance between the two.

Fenrir exited the tent and stretched, yawning loudly.

"Got the enchantments up?" he asked, looking over toward the two of them, to which Scabior nodded, letting go of Olive's arm to her relief.

"Well, then," he said, he face suddenly menacing, "let's do some snatching'."

It was early morning - well, later then when they had left. The sun was peeking over the trees as the birds began the chirp happily. It was also ridiculously cold and Olive's feet were already hurting from her old hiking boots. They had spread out, the three of them, and were taking the woods slowly. Should any one of them see anything, they were to give a two-note whistle. The two men were allowed to apparate to the spot while Olive, who was no longer allowed to use magic, was forced to run there as soon as possible. To make things easier, they put her in the middle while they combed through the forrest, having heard shouting voices not five minutes after apparating there. Well, Olive had the misfortune of having to side-along with Scabior, but that was neither here nor there.

There it was again - a voice talking from not too far away. To Olive's horror, she realized it was somewhere in front of her and probably wasn't loud enough for the others to hear. Swallowing to prepare herself, she slowed and eased her steps, peering from side to side. Up ahead there was a drop-off and she was almost certain the noise had come from there. Getting on her stomach, she seal crawled across, peering over the other side, clamping her teeth when she saw that there was, in fact, a small tent nestled in the valley. Fucking idiots, why didn't they use an enchantment?

"It's not my fault they're stupid," she muttered to herself, getting into a crouched position and stepping sideways down the slope, so as not to bring attention to herself. This was ridiculous - it was going to be bad enough if it was only one person because she was already at the disadvantage of not having a wand, but she was certain there were two voices hours ago when they heard the yelling. What if Scabior or Fenrir couldn't hear her whistle? Then what? Should she whistle now and risk being detected? What if they killed her? Oh, she would haunt the fuck out of Scabior for getting her into this mess.

Nearing the bottom of the hill, she realized the voices were coming from inside the tent and she crept forward, careful not to cast a shadow on the side of the fabric as she rounded the tent. The flap opened and she froze, though the girl passed without seeing her - luckily, Olive was half-hidden by the corner of the tent.

"I'm not fucking leaving yet!" called a man's voice from inside the tent. Olive's blood ran cold when she realized that she knew the girl from school - she was a younger Hufflepuff, though she didn't know her name. Without warning, the girl turned and froze, seeing Olive. Her mouth was hanging open in a look of horror - it was now or never. Olive put her pinkies to the corners of her mouth, giving out a loud two-note whistle and thanking Merlin her dad had taught her how to whistle like that. There was a scurry in the tent, but Olive had already lunged, grabbing onto the girl and effectively tackling her to the ground while the man fell from the tent and took off, leaving the girl behind. Two pops were heard while Olive struggled with the girl, who was trying to turn her over so she was on top and could escape. Footsteps hurtled from behind and suddenly Olive felt herself trapped, wrapped in thick binding and unable to move save for squirming.

"Wrong fucking one, you idiots!" she screamed, thrashing while the other girl got untangled from Olive and shot away, darting into the woods like the man before her had. Olive laid in disbelief as both Scabior and Fenrir zoomed past,

"Oi!" she yelled, happy to see that Fenrir's steps slowed as Scabior raced on, intent to snatch one of the two. With a light jog, Fenrir made his way back to her.

"You took your bloody time," she muttered, looking up to him with a grimace. "Go on, then, get me out of this."

Fenrir didn't move, instead smiling down at her and casting a look over his shoulder.

"Was this your shoddy aim?" she spat, furious that she had been bound after effectively taking the girl down. She didn't care if Fenrir was kind to her or not, this was ridiculous. It was no wonder half the muggleborns were still running rampant if he and Scabior were the best Snatchers around.

"No, I think my aim was dead on, actually," he said slowly, his face turning rather menacing.

Olive's blood turned cold as his words registered, a horrified expression covering her face as she looked up to him slowly. To try and hush the scream, he plucked her up as fast as he could, fighting her thrashing.

"SCABI-," was all she managed to scream before a loud crack was heard and she was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Short, terribly raspy breaths were leaving Olive as she clawed at the ground, trying to finally move as far from the spot as possible in a panic, though Fenrir was long gone. Something turned in her stomach - that horrid feeling of betrayal - and she placed her forehead to the hard earth, crying at the pain that was ripping through her body.

Scabior sat still, looking at the campfire with a clear expression of hatred. Two days he'd looked - two entire days - and he couldn't find either one of them anywhere. For all he knew, Olive was slashed to pieces and Fenrir was carefully evading him. Now, the third day, he'd given up after apparating from empty forrest to empty forrest, screaming her name to no answer. If he wasn't so cruel - hadn't made her take the vow - then, she could have easily apparated back, but he'd short handed her. He should have fucking realized the moment Olive was bound that he'd never once seen Fenrir miss on his aim.

A shudder ran down his spine and he pulled another cigarette from his pack, lighting it quickly to take his mind away from how she'd screamed out to him in panic for help and how terrible that crack had sounded to his ears. The two idiots were so close to being caught, but he had no choice - he apparated on the spot back to the camp to find it empty, already knowing what had happened.

Olive gave up, laying crumpled on the ground and sobbing into the grass. Everything was on fire. The snow melted against the heat of her skin, while even her blood scalded her veins. Inside and out, she was burning, a clear layer of sweat mixing with the blood and dirt that covered her. How fitting. The dirt had mixed with her sweat to make mud, which mixed with her blood.

She recalled with another sob that Fenrir, at some point during her torture, had pressed her face into the mud, his body pressed roughly on top of her as he called her a mudblood mockingly.

"Scabior!" she yelled out pitifully now, her body being completely taken by the heat as she began to violently convulse, a strong scream escaping her at what had been done.

Scabior, though, heard nothing. He was two hundred miles away, at least, and stuck with his horrid thoughts of her laying somewhere lifeless. Hatred burned through him for Greyback - he fucking took her from him. Olive was his!

"Help!" she cried again, clenching her eyes closed as the shaking finally slowed to a point where she could continue her crawling. Olive had never felt so alone in her entire life - in horrible pain and in the middle of an empty wood. In the beginning, she'd been worried about being found half-naked in her tattered clothing, but even now she could push her pride to the side if someone could stop the pain. Her stomach growled fiercely, but it was nothing compared to the fire reigning through her body, through her organs, through her bones.

How she could have ever thought Fenrir wasn't as bad as Scabior, she would never know. Again, she started crying, if only because she knew she should have taken Scabior's warning more seriously. She'd learned the hard way that there were much, much worse people in the world than him. Even the dreams, which had continued while she slipped in and out of consciousness, didn't disturb her near as much as they had the first day after her recent trauma.

"-thinks he's so much better than me," Fenrir had ranted while he had wrenched her legs apart, her screaming unheard by anyone save him. "I'll fucking show him. He'll be taken care of by next fucking week."

Olive's eyes shot open. He'd left her for dead with the intent to do the same thing to Scabior. That was it! That was all she needed!

In a moment of desperation, she closed her eyes and thought of Scabior, concentrating until colors danced behind her eyes, but she felt the spin - felt the compression - and knew she was doing it. In a sudden whirl of wind, she landed roughly in a deeper bit of snow, a new pain raking down her arm.

"Fuck!" she heard next to her, being roughly turned over before she could open her eyes. "Olive?" he asked in a slightly panicked voice to which she only sobbed, unable to move as the heat took her once more. Again she was taken by convulsions and her eyes were clenched shut, but she could feel his hands brushing the hair back from her face as he worriedly called out her name a few more times. He left her then in a hurry to run into the tent and she choked out, "D-on't l-eave me! I don't want to be a-lone again!"

Panic struck through her at the thought of being alone after her three days of torture. Quickly, she rolled over and heaved, throwing up what was left in her stomach, which wasn't anything, really, save for stomach acids that caused her nose to burn.

Scabior was back in an instant, rolling her back over and taking her into his arms like a child. He knew what this was - he knew exactly what this was and it only made the hatred burn for Fenrir even greater.

"Olive, you've splinched," he said carefully, which wasn't a lie. It just wasn't the whole truth. There was a long patch of skin missing from her arm where she had, in fact, splinched during her apparation. He wondered if she knew what was happening to her.

Olive only sobbed, clinging to the front of his shirt as she buried her face in his shoulder.

"Every-thing h-hurts," she managed, the shaking beginning again. Scabior shushed her gently and made his way to the bathroom, where the running water roared in Olive's ears. Without even trying to remove what was left of her shirt - the only thing she still partially had on - he hurriedly placed her in the bath of ice cold water that was still running. A relieved sigh fell from Olive's mouth, the water greatly cooling the pain of the burn on the surface of her skin. The little medicine cabinet was wrenched open and she lazily turned her head to see him raking through the contents, finally pulling out a small bottle.

"This is going to sting," he warned, pulling out a dropper and kneeling next to the bathtub. Taking her arm gently, he let the fluid fall where she had been splinched, Olive gasping and gritting her teeth while her eyes welled up again.

"It's over, it's over," he said quietly, shushing her before sitting the bottle down next to the tub. "I'm going to sit you up, Olive," he continued carefully, "So, I can see your back."

After a moment, she nodded and he gently put his hands under her arms, lifting her up into a sitting position. Reaching behind him, he grabbed his wand from the sink basin and gave it a quick wave, her shirt disappearing in an instant. Olive didn't care - this wasn't some way of him taking advantage of her. This wasn't sexual at all - it was medical.

Biting his bottom lip, he barely ran his fingers along the four lines engraved down her back - the same deep claw mark that marred his own skin.

"Have you cooled down?" he asked carefully, an uncomfortable feeling of protectiveness stirring in his stomach. "We need to move you to the bed."

Olive sat still for a moment, thinking of how she felt. Her skin had cooled considerably, but her insides were still heated, only dulled slightly by the ice cool water.

"I can't do anything for the inside," he told her quietly, knowing that was exactly where her thoughts had gone. A small frown crossed her face, but she nodded, bracing her hands on the side of the tub to try and stand. Scabior stopped her, reaching down and picking her up again, despite getting the front of his clothing soaked.

"It would just make you sick all over again," he told her, speaking from experience. Careful as ever, he took her into the bedroom, laying her gently on the double bed. They were both quiet as he rummaged through his drawers, not bothering with her still unpacked bag, and pulled out some of his own clothes for her.

"Try to change without getting up," he told her, his eyes betraying his medical mode as they lingered on her erect nipples. Sighing as he looked away, he turned and went out into the kitchen, knowing from going through it that there was only one thing that would satisfy her turning stomach.

Olive lifted her arms, the muscular strain nearly enough to make her lay about naked, and slid the shirt over her head. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she should be uncomfortable wearing his clothing, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The bottoms, however, posed a problem. The apparation in addition to putting the shirt on had zapped her and she could only stare at the article of clothing boredly before pushing it to the side.

Scabior entered, seeing her laying there bottomless on top of the covers, an eyebrow raising to which she lazily blinked in reply.

"It's too much," she croaked, her face paining for a moment while her hand rested on her stomach. "S'not like you haven't seen it all, anyway."

With a curt nod, he plopped down the plate next to her on the bed, which she looked over to in horror.

"What the fuck is that?" she asked, knowing exactly what it was and horribly disturbed that her mouth was watering at the smell.

"Meat," he said with a shrug, watching her carefully as he took a seat at the foot of the bed. "And water," he added, nodding down to the cup in his hands.

"I-It's…," she started, stomach growling loudly in protest as her hands brought the plate closer, "It's raw."

Nodding again, he stilled at she lifted one of the pieces to her mouth. The hatred for Fenrir burned more intensely when she lifted another piece instantly, then another, confused tears building up in her eyes.

"Slow down, you'll make yourself sick," he finally said, offering the water to her, which she took quickly and drained. There was a sick satisfaction in his chest as he eyed the empty glass she let fall to the side.

The plate was empty a few moments later and she stilled, almost ashamed of herself. The moment her mouth had watered, the horrible reality finally hit her. The pain, the heat, the craving. Her eyes darted up to his, causing his breath to hitch in his throat when he saw how wide her pupils were.

"He left me for dead," she finally said, not daring to look away from him for fear of him disappearing, "I laid there for three days in unbearable pain, screaming for you - screaming for anyone - and no one came. I couldn't," she stopped another sob working its way up her throat as he face screwed up, the next words coming out funny due to her emotions, "I couldn't do anything. I couldn't use magic. I couldn't even stand. But, then I remembered something he said. He - he said he was coming after you in the next week because you thought you were so much better. So, I-I apparated because I can use magic when a pureblood is in trouble, right?"

He didn't answer immediately and panic struck her features.

"I'm not going to die, am I?" she asked hurriedly, thinking maybe she'd misunderstood. Scabior was still quiet. She could have rode out the last of the fever, found her way to other people, and lived out the rest of her life and he would have not be any the wiser. But, no, she came back to tell him that Fenrir was coming after him, putting herself right back into the same situation she was in before.

"No, you're not going to die," he said, cocking his head as he looked down at her. "Let's get you under the covers," he added, vanishing the plate and cup back to the kitchen and helping hold her up while he pulled the covers down, then up over her. There was something heavy in the air which neither of them could handle, Scabior now sitting on the edge of the bed near her waist, brushing the hair back out of her face again.

"I'm a monster now, aren't I?" she asked throatily, the look on her face sad and unsure of what was happening to her.

A moment passed in complete silence, finally broken by a single, "Yes."


	12. Chapter 12

**The move to Disney is over and I'm now officially (somewhat) settled! Special thanks to lpompadour who flattered me beyond belief by asking if she could translate my story into German! So, if there are any German speakers out there who would prefer to read that over English, you know where to find it! So many thanks to all of you who actively review and, as well, for all of my new readers. I'm so humbled by the response this story has had! I've had several thousand views for January so far and I'm just amazed because I've never had a story do so well before. Thank you all again and I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

_Chapter 12_

Olive had never remembered being that sick in her entire life. Even when she had the muggle flu in second year and was admitted to the Hospital Wing for over a week. This was terrible.

The bouts of heat would return, but the convulsions had slowly stopped. For three days, she didn't leave bed - not even once to use the restroom. The only reason she got out of bed on the third day was because they had to move camp.

Scabior had remained more quiet than she ever remembered. Long nights were spent by her side, making sure everything was well taken care of for he knew exactly how it felt. Each evening, he would remove the gauze from her back, rinse her wound, and cover it again. By the fourth day, though she was feeling weak, the worst bit was the marks on her back, which still burned as badly as when she'd received them. Despite magical concoctions, Scabior had assured her that nothing would be of help for this, which only put Olive in a worse slump than ever.

In fact, two weeks had passed and she'd barely said a word, which made Scabior uneasy, though he didn't press the matter. She would come around eventually. Consulting the lunar chart in his pocket for the third time that afternoon, he sighed and crumpled it up, shoving it back in his pocket with a fresh determination not to look at it again. This would be it. No amount of looking could change it.

Tonight was a full moon.

As if he weren't already on edge as it were with Olive, he was now ready to rip his hair out with his own irritation and worrying over how Olive's first full moon would go. She'd slammed the bathroom door this morning, took a two hour shower, and returned straight to bed for the remainder of the day, so her first wasn't exactly going well already.

After clearing his throat, he finally stood and strode to the bedroom door, taking a hesitant breath before knocking gently. Even the noise pounded in his own ears, adding to his already slight headache.

"What?" she spat at him through the door quite nastily.

That was all it took to set him off. In a heated fury, he burst through the door and slammed it behind him, seeing her splayed out across her bed with a sour expression written across her face. He could tell already that her pupils were beginning to expand and he wondered how big his own were.

"Get the fuck up, you ungrateful fucking brat!" he yelled, pulling the covers from over her and tossing them to the floor. "I've left you alone all fuckin' day, but I can't ignore the letter we got anymore. Potter was spotted this morning and we've got to move. Now, I've let you sit in here and be a fucking pout for six hours now and you will not fucking yell at me like that!"

"Don't fucking yell at me then!" she screamed back, her face contorting with uncharacteristic fury.

There was a pain in his jaw for how hard he was clenching his teeth, but that was barely noticed as he crossed the room in two strides and caught her neck with his hand, putting more pressure there than he meant.

"That was an order," he spat dangerously near her ear, quite literally feeling the negative energy which was swarming between them. For a moment, she fought him off, nearly succeeding in pushing his hand away, but he only clenched tighter, causing her to wheeze for air.

"Do you understand?" he asked after a moment, enjoying her face quickly changing from red to purple. Determined, she merely shot him a nasty look, unable to say anything. With that, his hand applied more pressure and the room began to swim around her, her valiant attempts at pushing and kicking slowly fading.

"Tell me if you understand, Olive," he continued, watching with a rush of triumph as she barely nodded, her eyes unfocused. "Say it out loud."

Releasing his hand just enough to allow her to speak, he watched her intently.

"Y-yes," she finally wheezed out, there still being to much pressure on her neck to speak correctly. Her lungs were burning - aching - for air and mentally she screamed when his hand tightened more than ever.

"Yes, what?" he asked darkly, watching her lips part slowly as her eyes began to droop. His thumb rested right on her pulse point, which was significantly slowing - he felt a tug in his pants.

"Yes, Scabior," she quietly managed, gasping for air once he finally let go.

"That's better," he said abruptly, standing from the bed - he would save her for later. "Get dressed. Something approachable. We're going to an inn for the night to wait it off until morning, but you're going to look as harmless as possible as I want you to see if they're harboring any mudbloods. There have been suspicions about this particular inn and we need to cash some muds in to the Ministry if we want to keep living."

With that, he left the room and her laying there, still trying to catch her breath.

An hour later, they were standing a few buildings down from the inn, trying to look as if they didn't know each other without being too obvious.

"You've got the plan, then?" he asked, his back turned to her as he acted as if he were reading an informational sign.

"Yes," she whispered back, waving toward an imaginary person and heading off into the post-work crowd. Where they were, she hadn't the slightest idea, but she knew where the inn was and walked that way quickly, keeping her head down as if she were hiding her face. Goosebumps rose all over her exposed legs, Olive having decided to go with the rattiest outfit she owned - a ripped and frayed skirt and an old, slouchy sweater. If she were going to play the part of someone on the run, she knew it wasn't glamourous. As she walked, she ran her hands through her hair a few times to give herself a disheveled look.

Outside, Scabior scowled at her back as she walked off - she hadn't gotten smart with him since his episode earlier, but he had caught her giving him a nasty look. It was probably a good thing that the full moon came when it did - she had gotten far too comfortable with him tending to her the past two weeks.

Taking a seat inside, she shivered - part for real and part for act - and still kept her head down, as if trying to avoid detection. As planned, the round barman had caught a glimpse of her and, fifteen minutes later once he got a break in drink orders, tossed his towel on the bar and discreetly made his way to her booth, squeezing into the seat with his stomach pushing into the table's edge.

"Can I help ya, missy?" he asked in a friendly, but quiet tone. Olive looked up at him as if she were afraid, then looked right back down to the table.

Show time.

"N-no," she purposefully stuttered, trying her best to look pitiful, "I-I was just trying to warm up. I haven't any money - I-I can leave if that's a problem."

For a moment, the barman sized her up, then gave her a warm smile.

"But, you're all skin an' bones, miss," he said, "How long's it been since you had you a hot meal."

Olive quickly looked up to him, sure to put a hopeful glint in her eyes.

"Th-three days, sir," she lied, looking back down as if ashamed.

With that, he looked sad, leaning forward with his thumb discreetly pointed to a warning poster about the dangers of mudbloods.

"Is you one of them, miss?" he asked kindly, but Olive didn't answer. Instead, she kept her eyes glued to the table, pretending to be terrified that he'd asked.

"So, that'll be one room for the night, miss, an' a hot stew, comin' up," he said rather loudly, standing quickly and making his way back to the bar while she sat there, feeling triumphant as ever. The door creaked open and Scabior entered, just as she put her hand up to run through her hair. That was the signal. Hair meant they were harboring, coughing meant they weren't.

A quick look from Scabior told her she was safe to put her hand back down. The man bustled back from the bar, a piping hot stew in his hands, then went right off to the bar to where Scabior had taken a seat.

Olive forced herself to eat the stew as if starving, though she wasn't hungry in the slightest, and noticed the barman had carefully placed a key under the bowl, just the very edge peeking out and tipping the bowl slightly. Pulling it out, she saw engraved on it the number 15.

Ten minutes later, she found herself in the attic, which had once been a suite, surrounded by several people who all looked equally beaten down. There was a mother with two very young children, a young boy a few years older than Olive, an elder couple perhaps in their sixties, and several middle-aged witches and wizards, all cramped on their cots quietly. When she entered, they merely turned and looked her way before going back to their own things. Only the boy's eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before looking back to his book.

"This one is open over here, dear," the elder woman spoke, patting the cot next to her. "Did James feed you, at least, before sending you up?"

Olive nodded as she walked, taking a seat on the hard cot which had a sleeping bag rolled at the end.

"Well, where's your things?" the woman asked, standing, "I'll help you get settled."

"I haven't got any," Olive said, keeping her head down as she realized the act would have to continue. "I haven't even got my wand."

There was a collective gasp around the room as they once again all turned to look her way, obviously having been listening in on their newest arrival. The woman, however, looked unfazed and offered her a kind smile.

"Well, we'll just have to make do, now won't we? Oliver, why don't you take Miss…I'm sorry, dear, I didn't catch your name."

"Olive."

"Take Miss Olive here down with you to get the wash and we'll see if we can't find her at least something comfortable to wear to bed."

The boy a few years older than her - Oliver, apparently - nodded, standing and motioning for her to follow. Quickly, she made her way beside him, still keeping her eyes down toward the ground. There was something about him, though - he smelled…he smelled like rain. It made her squeeze her legs a little tighter as they walked, her breathing unnoticeably to him a bit more labored. This is what she put Scabior through on a day-to-day basis. Oh, she could smell the hard-work on his skin and the fading remnants of the sun - each step her legs ground harder against each other, finally causing her to bite her lip. When he turned around abruptly at the bottom of the stairs, she nearly gasped when she was attacked by the scent.

"I'm Oliver, by the way," he said with a slightly goofy grin. He was tall and lanky, with reddish brown hair that flopped down over his ears.

"Olive," she repeated, though her voice was much more throaty as her eyes scanned over his freckled face.

"Olive and Oliver - we'd make quite the pair," he said with a wink before opening the door and making his way to the small hall. Olive followed right on his footsteps, feeling her nipples harden with every small ribbon of his scent that she found.

After carefully navigating so as not to be seen, they found themselves in the basement, where two large baskets overflowed with clothing, but sat unattended.

"James' wife Georgia does the wash," he noted, pushing down on the top of the piles to better fit them into the baskets.

"How do things go around here?" Olive asked, her eyes trained on him and his lean muscles as he pressed against the clothing.

"We mainly keep to room 15," he answered with a shrug, "I read all day, usually. It's awful for Mallory and her kids because they want to play and they've gotta be quiet."

With a shuddering breath, she asked quite lowly, "Doesn't it ever get lonely?"

And by lonely, she meant without girls, which he seemed to pick up on as he awkwardly laughed and picked up the first basket, Olive quickly following to do the second.

"It does," he admitted, but left it at that.

Once they found themselves back upstairs, Oliver went straight for his bed after dumping the laundry next to the elder woman, so Olive did the same.

"Do you know the time?" Olive asked her, looking out the window to see it was well after dark and she had to meet Scabior for a run-down. The woman merely looked at her watch, preoccupied with folding, and quietly answered, "Half past ten. Why do you ask?"

Olive cleared her throat, having prepared for this.

"I'm meeting…an acquaintance tonight. She's supposed to bring me news on the Ministry's hold in Australia, since it's too dangerous to send word my owl. If it's not as bad there, then perhaps it would be best for us all to jump ship."

The woman's face paled considerably.

"It's dangerous to be runnin' around this time of night. They stop everyone, you know. I don't think it's that good of an idea."

Make yourself the hero - Scabior had told her that.

"Then, I'll go down trying to make my circumstances better. I only want to get all of us out of this cramped attic," she said quietly, as if she were longing for a proper bed. Still, the woman clucked her tongue disapprovingly, but said no more.

Taking that as her dismissal, Olive stood and, with a longing look Oliver's way, which made him blush slightly, she made her way back down the stairs. Scabior had told her to meet him around back of the inn and into the wooded area a ways so they wouldn't be overheard. By the time she got there, he was already there and she walked right past him, her mind still raveled around Oliver.

"Olive!" he spat harshly, waking her up and causing her to turn toward him with a scowl.

"You shouldn't hide in dark corners!" she argued back, a look of guilt clear on her face before she could cover it up.

Scabior, however, caught it - as well as the faint smell of arousal in the air, which made him clench his teeth.

"What's the situation?" he asked, ignoring the burning feeling of anger in his stomach for the time being.

"Room 15," she said simply, taking in his angry glare for only a moment before looking down to the ground. The breeze wound around them suddenly and she shivered, still in her skirt.

"Here," he said, tossing her a warm thermos, "We'll be here for awhile. Silly girl - hadn't the brain to wear something decent."

And that was true - once again his stomach turned, wondering what other person got to see her thin, exposed legs. Those were Olive's legs - which meant they belonged to him.

With another glare, she uncapped the thermos and took a long, warm drink, the liquid warming her belly first. Scabior grinned - she still trusted him enough to accept his drinks. Of course, things had been going too slowly the past few weeks, so he added a bit more this time. Olive, though, noticed something was slightly…off, but she couldn't put her finger on it.

"And how many people up there?" he continued, the grin growing at the slightly confused look on her face. Again, his eyes dropped to her legs, thinking longingly about how soon he would be pushing them apart, whether she wanted it or not.

"Maybe ten or so," she said, her brow slightly tucked before looking up to him.

"What did you say this was?" she asked, shaking the thermos slightly.

"It's tea…Can't you taste it?" he asked as if she were an idiot. After a moment's consideration, she took another drink.

"I suppose," she said slowly. "Just tastes a bit…I'dunno."

Of course, he'd added such small amounts beforehand that she hadn't noticed, but he'd grown terribly impatient and wanted to move things along.

"So, ten muds - around 100 galleons for the lot. 50/50, then," he continued, talking business as if nothing were any different.

Olive, however, felt very strange. She couldn't concentrate on a thing Scabior was saying, instead revisiting the dreams he had appeared in lately. This time, however, it wasn't accompanied by a feeling of disgust - she longed to remember even the slightest details.

"Olive?" he said abruptly, breaking her from her thoughts for the second time and causing her to jump seeing how he'd close the gap between them. Actually, her slight gasp was met with a flurry of butterflies in her stomach.

"Are you alright? You never answered my question."

Shaking her head, she tried to rid herself of all thought for a moment, but it proved impossible. Especially when he reached up and brushed the hair behind her ear, looking down on her worriedly - though, she didn't realize this was as much of an act as she performed earlier.

"I'm sorry I was angry with you earlier," he began, tilting his head to the side slightly as he looked down on her, "It's difficult during the full moon to keep your temper - you'll grow to understand that."

The words just sounded jumbled in her head. All she could think about was how his hand was now resting on her neck gently and how close the two of them really were. For a moment, her head spun and she unashamedly laid a palm on his chest, tried to blink the dizziness away.

"I don't feel right," she finally said, looking up to him, her nearly black eyes meeting his as they stood under the bright full moon.

"It's probably the moon," he assured her, running his thumb over her bottom lip, glad that she responded by leaning her cheek into his palm.

Olive's entire world was spinning out of control. All sense and thought had gone out the window, replaced entirely by Scabior's being.

"I just feel…strange," she continued, eyes never once leaving his face.

"Show me where it hurts," he said quietly, taking another step and closing the gap, their chests meeting.

"It doesn't hurt," she said with a soft laugh, her stomach once again tossing with how close he was to her. "I just…feel like I can't even talk right."

"That's easy to fix," he assured her, then took her breath away as he bent and captured his lips with hers. Olive's knees gave a slight tremble before she kissed him back, softly at first, then growing more ferocious as she fought off the small remnants that argued that this was insane in the back of her head.

Scabior made a small growl, not wasting any time as he walked them back into a tree, his tongue taking control of her own dominantly. Olive's back met with rough bark, but she hardly noticed, instead wrapping her arms up around his neck, eyes closed as she let him take complete control of her - and he wanted that complete control.

One of his hands went under her shirt, not a moment to be wasted while he had her in this state, and she grinned against his kiss, happy to forfeit all control and let those protesting voices drift away. She was his.

Within a few minutes, they'd both worked up labored breathing, though they never broke their kiss. One of Scabior's hands had simply ripped the bra, the pain from the taught straps nothing compared to the bliss of his other hand, which was tracing patterns into the front of her panties. Before Olive could lead her hands downward, he swooped her up and pressed her against the tree, forcing her to wrap her legs around his waist while his hand slid back between, sneaking under the edge of her underwear. A gasp fell from her lips and onto his as his fingers abruptly entered her, pushing in roughly. He pulled them out, biting her bottom lip roughly, and again pressed them into her. Scabior's rhythm continued for a few more paces before he grew happy when he felt her coat his fingers in her slickness, the sweet scent protruding into the air as she whined into his mouth.

The absence of his fingers left her wanting, the lone hand working her breasts not enough on its own. He had other plans, it seemed. The freed hand quickly undid his pants and he once again ripped her undergarments, the panties falling to the ground unwanted. His tongue charged against hers, forcing it into submission as he rubbed against her entrance, the heat between Olive's legs causing her to whine in begging.

Not one to waste time, Scabior plunged in and she finally broke the kiss, her head leaning back against the bark of the tree as a small moan of relief left her. Her muscles quivered around him, happy to finally be filled, and released more lubricant as his welcome. Scabior had never felt someone so wet in his entire life and, somewhere in the back of his mind, vowed that he would make her squirt for him.

Knowing a bed would make this easier, he pulled away from the tree, leaving the scraps of her underwear behind, and spun on his heel, landing them safely in his room at the inn with a swift crack. Their weight toppled and he fell backward, her landing on top of him, causing him to invade her further as a long moan left her at the intrusion. Without any instruction, Olive began to buck up and down while he preoccupied his hands with pulling her shirt over her head and discarding what was left of her bra. The moment she was exposed, his mouth was roughly biting at one of her nipples, which caused her head to tip back as she groaned, quickening her pace. The warmth of his mouth drove her over the edge and she leaned down, tracing her lips along the edge of his ear, nipping lightly to his surprise.

The tension between her legs was building with each thrust and only grew when he began bucking upward in rhythm with her, driving himself even more deeply.

"Fuck!" she cried, a wave of heat coursing over her body as the pressure built.

"You're not going to go already?" he teased, his mouth leaving her breast as he flipped her off of him and onto her back.

"Olive," he continued, crawling over her legs and spreading her knees graphically, "My Olive - let me do some things to you first and then we'll see about you finishing."

With that, he dug his face between her legs, his tongue lashing wildly against her as she literally screamed out, hands clutching the sheets on either side between her sweaty hands.

Over and over his tongue lapped around her clit - faster and faster with each second. Her entire body shook, her knees trembling against his hands that kept them firmly in place on the mattress. Again, the heat was building and she began moaning out shamelessly, the end near.

And then he stopped.

He pulled away with a grin.

"Quid pro quo," he said devilishly and it took Olive a moment to get what he meant.

Not wanting for any of this to stop, she sat quickly and got on her hands and knees.

"Good girl," he purred, "Now crawl over here."

Olive did as she was told, unable to take her eyes from his perfect face. She didn't wait to be told what to do - instead, she took him in her hand first, giving him a few good strokes before leaning down and taking him in her mouth.

For Scabior, he nearly came on the spot - he'd never had a girl suck him off after he'd been inside of her. Olive could taste herself on him, but hadn't the slightest care. All she aimed to do was please him.

"Look at me," Scabior demanded, pleased that she listened, her eyes looking up to him longingly. Inexperienced, she wasn't quite sure what to do, but she did her best, swirling her tongue along him and taking him as far into her mouth as she could without choking.

Eventually, his hands went to her hair, guiding her head as a low groan escaped him. She could taste the bitterness of him beginning to drip out onto her lips when he pulled her head away, angling it to look up at her. The aching in her legs had only grown during the absence of him within her.

Scabior's eyes traced down her back, resting on where her skirt had raised up around her waist.

A few moments later after a couple more orders, Olive found herself once again on top of him as he sat against the headboard, his warm hands guiding her waist as she rode him up and down. Instantly, the heat felt partially quenched, though there was a drive for more and their pace quickened. Olive's muscles began contracting slowly, building for the release, but after only a few minutes, Scabior turned her over again so that her back was pressed against the headboard, literally lifted off of the mattress as she sat wedged between him and the back of the bed.

The angle tightened her, gave him further depth, and she moaned out again, her lips quivering as he hit a spot deep within her that shook her to her core. Seeing this, he focused on that spot, not yet giving up his earlier quest to make her squirt for him.

On the third or fourth thrust, Olive's hands met his shoulders, her nails digging into the skin as her muscles gave a tight convulsions.

"Harder!" she begged, her skin flushed with the heat of the moment, groaning out as he jammed into her roughly, hitting the spot again.

Something new was blossoming inside of her - something she'd never experienced before. There was a pressure building from deep inside that made her give one continuous moan as he thrust in and out, finally screaming out when it became unbearable and the pressure mounted.

There was a great surge inside of her and she yelled out as she finally released, her orgasm stronger than she had ever experienced. There was a huge release inside and she felt warmth gushing from between her legs, coating him and their thighs.

They'd laid there for awhile, him holding her, before he finally told her she should get back with the others and he'd be up in awhile for the raid. With a disheartened nod, she dressed, no underwear, and made her way back up to her little cot where the elder lady had laid out fresh pajamas for her. Seeing that everyone was asleep, she simply stripped her clothes off there and changed - not aware that Oliver had, in fact, been awake. He'd been laying there thinking about how pretty she was - how huge her eyes seemed - and wondering what had taken her so long. He'd never met a girl that was so forward before and it made him feel better about himself knowing how her eyes had stayed on him in the basement. For the first time in his life, he had a crush on someone after only the first meeting. His face was blood red from seeing her pull her top off. Always the gentleman, he looked away.


End file.
